A Little Light Music
by Ellie 5192
Summary: "She's not sure what she expected, back when she was in complete denial about her feelings, but it wasn't this." - Sharon and Andy find themselves navigating the confusing path from colleagues to friends, and then somehow, something more. Pre-ship/ship WIP. Categories and rating subject to change.
1. Walking Bass Line

"_She'd like to know exactly how she ended up flat on her arse in the middle of an empty alley with a gun in her face."_

_Sharon finds herself in trouble, and Andy finds he doesn't mind carrying her handbag. _

_Prompt: Scars. First in (what I know is going to turn into a) Raydor/Flynn series, because this is me and there are prompts. Pre-ship WIP. One-shot. Can stand alone. _

_Dedicated to akachankami, who asked so nicely. _

_**Walking Bass Line**_

She'd like to know exactly how she ended up flat on her arse in the middle of an empty alley with a gun in her face. She'd like to know why her people broke their cover to pursue the suspect they were covertly cornering. She'd like to know what the hell she fell on that is now digging into her back through her Kevlar.

She sees the finger twitch on the trigger, and hears a shot.

She's not dead.

Pushing herself up onto her elbows, she eyes the body of her would-be murder, sprawled not two feet from her, his eyes wide open, the gun still in his hand. Footsteps run up from behind her, stopping near her shoulder as he crouches on one knee next to her.

"Captain. You alright?"

She looks up into his frantic eyes, both of them breathing heavily.

"Andy" she breathes, acknowledging him, looking wildly between him and the body.

"You hurt?" he asks, his tone reassuringly calm but eyes scanning every inch of her.

"Just my dignity" she answers, holding out her hand for him to help her up. He stands and grabs her hand, the other on her elbow as he hoists her to her feet. She doubles over, clutching her opposite side, hissing under her breath. The grip on her elbow tightens fractionally.

"And my ribs" she amends, straightening gingerly.

"Broken?" he asks.

"Well I certainly hope not"

He smirks at her, and she knows it's all fine.

Sykes and Sanchez round the corner, running towards them.

"They're okay" says Sanchez into his radio as he approaches, no doubt informing Provenza from where he sits around the corner in the undercover car. He kneels down by the body, though with a shot straight through the heart they all know the prognosis. "Lane's dead" he says simply, fingers lingering on the neck.

"Captain, are you alright?" asks Sykes as she reaches them, noticing the way she's holding her side. Andy's hand is still on her elbow.

"I'm fine" she says.

"She needs to have her side looked at- she fell on that canister pretty hard, might have cracked a rib" says Andy, gesturing to the rubbish she fell into on the alley floor.

"It's bruised at most" she insists, waving them off, though she doesn't push his hand off her arm.

"Your rules" says Sanchez with a sideways nod of his head, turning away to call in a paramedic and FID.

"Oh I'm so looking forward to this" she mutters under her breath, rolling her eyes.

"Said the pot to the kettle" says Andy, grinning at her sarcastic tone.

"Let's just say my replacement is not as much fun as me" she replies cryptically with a derisive smirk.

"Great" he replies, rolling his own eyes, his hand still not letting go of her elbow.

It's not long before the ambulance arrives, and while they're preparing the dead body on a gurney, the paramedics take a quick look at her ribs. The rest of their team had left soon after FID had arrived, on her orders, and only she and Andy remain at the scene, having been directly involved in the incident. She had asked Andy to help her get rid of the flack vest, and when the paramedic gets her to sit on the back step of the ambulance he takes the hem of her shirt and rolls it slowly up. She sees Andy wince out of the corner of her eye, and can feel a deep purple bruise already forming along the soft tissue of her lower back. She hisses as the paramedic pokes her side, rolling the shirt to sit just under her breasts to check the rest of her back.

She's too focused on the cold fingers on her skin to notice Andy's wandering gaze, or the confused look that crosses his face when he notices an old scar running the length of her other side. It's thin, white and faded, and most of the time she forgets it's even there.

After a moment she registers his scrutiny, though he quickly looks away, and she ignores the questioning look. She feels somewhat self-conscious over her midriff being exposed to him, but then she's had two children; modesty takes on a new meaning when semi-strangers stare at your bits all over for hours on end.

"I'd like you to go in for an x-ray" says the paramedic, rolling her shirt down. "Nothing's outright snapped, but I'd like to check for minor fractures just in case"

"Fine" she sighs, standing up, adjusting her shirt gingerly, eyeing the gurney full of body-bag and then the back of the ambulance. "But I'm not riding with a dead murderer"

Andy smirks despite himself. "I'll take you in"

"We have to give our statements to FID first"

Andy rolls his eyes at her, but nods his acquiescence, flicking his hand in a dismissive fashion. He takes hold of her elbow again when her step falters, and they walk side by side over to the young FID officers who remember their old boss with fondness. The ease and trust between them makes the whole process run smoother than it ever has for Andy, and for the first time he's thankful to have her calming presence there. Evidently the unpleasant person she was expecting to be there didn't show up.

Their statements are given promptly and efficiently, and before long they're strapping themselves into Andy's car so he can take her to the hospital for her x-rays. She winces against the movement when she goes to put her belt on, and he wordlessly reaches for it and buckles it for her. She thanks him softly, genuinely touched that he's being so attentive, and wondering where this care is coming from.

A couple of hours later she's sitting on an emergency bed, the curtain pulled closed. He had insisted on coming in with her, after checking that it wasn't overstepping, and he's standing next to her bed when her shirt is again rolled up. The bruise is starting to swell and look angry. She knows it'll be every shade of purple and yellow by morning.

Andy again notices the scar down her side when the portable x-ray is brought in to her cubicle, but he says nothing, and she rolls her eyes at the apparent intimacy of the moment. It's ridiculous, really, that he's being so attentive and yet so reserved. She won't break, and she's certainly not dying, and though they've come to respect each other- maybe even like each other- she doesn't expect him to tend to her all night.

"You don't have to stay, you know" she says for what feels like the hundredth time.

"I told you I'm staying, and I'm staying" he says stubbornly, practiced, his arms folded where he's standing out of the nurse's way. The young woman merely grins, having heard the same exchange all night, and excuses herself to take the x-rays to be developed. Sharon nods, and rolls her top down, hissing as her top catches. Andy steps in and helps, wordlessly pulling her top down, his fingers lingering just briefly over the bottom end of the long scar. The touch is feather-light, but just hesitant enough that she notices, and she thinks it's sweet that he's curious, even if he'd never dare ask.

"Horse riding accident" she says dismissively, pulling her long sleeves up to her elbows for comfort, gingerly swinging her legs over the side of the bed, mindful of pulling at her side. "I came off right into some barbed wire fencing when I was eighteen. There's another on my leg, not as long"

He's still standing right next to her bed, almost leaning into her legs now that she's moved. She looks up at him through her glasses, unperturbed at having shared a personal story, though that's not the norm for them. She notices their proximity, but isn't fazed, and if he's aware that there's not even a foot between them, he's comfortable enough not to move. He's scrutinising her, weighing up what it means that she's shared this with him, and that she's not mad for his noticing in the first place. She personally doesn't think it's very important or memorable, but his expression shifts just slightly, and she thinks maybe she's wrong. Before she has time to figure out what his look means, he is lightly smirking, the familiar expression a surprising comfort to her.

"I didn't know you could horse ride" he says mischievously.

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Lieutenant" she teases back. She had a naughtier line to use, but doesn't want him choking on his own tongue.

"I'm sure"

She grins at him, and then turns serious, considering him. He shifts his weight, and then turns and perches himself on her bed next to her, thighs not quite touching, but not too far apart either. They are quiet for a long moment.

"I haven't thanked you for saving my life tonight, Andy"

Her tone is whisper-soft and endearingly earnest and he'd almost forgotten, between checking on her and giving FID statements, that she'd been laying in an alley a few short hours ago with a trigger-happy sociopath wielding a gun in her face. The vivid memory sends a chill up his spine, and he looks down to his hands in his lap. It never gets easier, and the movies lie when they say that a cop becomes accustomed to facing death. It never becomes normal. Learning the proper coping mechanisms and casually brushing away a near-death experience are two very different things; they both know that.

"Don't mention it, Captain. All part of the job"

"It is" she concedes, her voice light and airy in that way she has. "But even so. Thank you, Lieutenant, for saving my life"

He risks a glance at her, and her eyes are glassy but clear, bearing into him with gratitude. He looks down and pats her hand where it rests on the space of bed between them. Turning her palm up, she gives his hand a brief squeeze with hers, her lips pursing with emotion when he meets her gaze again. The nurse comes around the curtain, the doctor trailing behind her, her x-rays held lightly in his hand. Andy gets off the bed to give her space with the medical personnel, and her eyes follow him for a moment before looking expectedly at the doctor.

"No fractures" he says with a smile. "You're lucky"

"Am I what" she says, letting out a breath of relief with a smile.

"You'll be a bit tender for the next week, ten days, but if you keep the ice going for the next two days, heat for two days after that, the pain should ease up. There's likely some minimal bruising internally too, so just be mindful of that- take over-the-counter pain relief as per instructions if you need them. Other than that, there's not much more I can do for you here"

"Thank you" she says, standing, tugging at the hem of her top, returning the kindly smile the doctor gives her.

"No problem, Captain. Tash here will get your discharge papers sorted. Try not to run into any bad guys though, hey? At least until that swelling eases up"

"I'll do my best" she says with a grin.

"I'll keep her out of trouble, Doc" says Andy, standing with his arms casually folded off to the side, a lazy smirk on his face.

"Good to hear. Take care"

The doctor excuses himself as the nurse hands her the necessary paperwork to fill in before she leaves. She tries not to dwell on Andy's passing comment, innocent as it was, and has to fight a grin over how protective her team has been of her this evening. She thinks maybe she's finally, truly, one of them, reluctant though the shift has been.

She signs the last of the paperwork, and Andy wordlessly holds up her jacket for her to slide her arms into, bringing it around her and pressing lightly into her shoulders as she uses one hand to flick her hair out of the collar.

"Thank you" she mumbles lightly.

He doesn't say anything, but picks up her handbag and doesn't pass it to her, and she wants to protest, but after everything else tonight she knows she won't win, so she lets him be. He leads her out of the emergency room, his hand not quite touching the small of her back, and doesn't say anything when he pulls out of the carpark and points the car in the direction of her condo. She's not surprised he knows her address- he's a detective, and she did have to fill out one thousand forms- but she smiles anyway, and thinks she might even let him walk her to the door, and invite him in for a cup of coffee. It's the middle of the night, and he was good enough to stay many hours with her in the E/R. Coffee is the least she can do.

She doesn't analyse what it means that she wants the night to linger. She almost died tonight, after all; who can blame her for wanting some company while she digests that reality. She thinks Andy must understand that, because when they pull up to her home, he's out of the car and around to her door, opening it for her before she can protest, and taking her handbag from her again.

She smiles somewhat sheepishly at him, whispering her thanks, and he doesn't make a deal out of it, so she doesn't either.

Yes, she thinks. Coffee would be perfect.


	2. Sotto Voce

_Thank you all so much for your support. The feedback I received on the first chapter was overwhelming. I truly appreciate all of my readers, and I give heartfelt thanks to my reviewers. Namaste. _

"_She smiles at him again, wanting to roll her eyes, but she doesn't, because his boss just told him to stop clocking overtime and go home for the weekend, and instead he's waiting around for her."_

_Prompt: First Time. Sharon Raydor/ Andy Flynn pre-ship, one-shot, can stand alone but follows after Walking Bass Line. (I'm going for a musical theme here apparently)._

_**Sotto Voce**_

She's just tired enough to take her glasses off for a moment to check the time and rub her eyes. She hears a light knock on her door. Opening her eyes at the unexpected intrusion, she sees Andy standing there, two steaming mugs in his hand and a soft expression on his face, not quite a smile.

"You're still here?" she asks lightly, putting her glasses back on.

"I could say the same to you, Captain. Burning the midnight oil?"

He takes her light tone as invitation enough to step into the room, and places one of the mugs in front of her on a discarded note of paper. It's peppermint tea, she can smell, and she wonders when he first noticed that she drinks it when she's working late at the office.

"Thank you" she says, her voice not entirely devoid of surprise. If he notices her tone he doesn't say anything; merely shrugs and takes a seat opposite her, having a sip of his own drink, which she assumes is coffee.

This is not the first time they've both worked late together, the others slowly trickling out to commence their weekend plans. It is, however, the first time he's brought her tea, and interrupted their paperwork to come and sit in her presence, content to smile at her over the desk between them.

"Rusty not home?" he asks, taking another sip.

She shakes her head. "He's staying at a friend's house. He tells me it's for a school project, but I have a feeling it has something to do with video games and pizza"

He chuckles at her tone; at the way she seems completely unfazed by the boy's harmless deception. He forgets sometimes that she's done this gig twice now, and that somewhere out there are two products of Sharon Raydor, who- as far as he's aware- are stable and successful in their own right. Having only witnessed her in her somewhat restrained role as Rusty's guardian, he finds it hard to picture her as especially maternal. Still, he thinks she must have been great.

"Boys will be boys" he says.

She hums airily instead of laughing, and he finds the tone endearing.

"You'd know all about that" she teases, and he has to grin at the friendly dig she takes, because the mood is light and her face is open, and he knows she doesn't mean anything by it. It's quite telling that his first reaction is not anger or hostility. It speaks to how far their relationship has come since those early days, when he wouldn't have trusted her to mean nothing by such a remark.

"You have no idea" he answers cryptically, and she hums again, her eyes shining.

They look at each other for a moment, holding eyes with eyes, and they're both smiling. It should feel awkward, or uncomfortable, but instead it feels wonderful, like they're two kindred spirits sitting on the same frequency under the yellow glow of her desk lamp. The air doesn't feel charged, and she doesn't feel the need to straighten her hair or fix her blouse. Instead she picks up her cup and takes a sip of tea, her eyes shining over the brim. If Andy is in a different head-space from her, he doesn't show it. She thinks he must not be, with the easy way he's slouched in the chair, tie discarded and shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow. It's not his usual look, and she finds she likes it.

She considers him for a moment, her cup sitting just away from her mouth, her tongue resting thoughtfully against her teeth. When she'd checked the clock it had been ten thirty. It's probably closer to eleven by now.

"You should finish up for the night, Andy. Whatever it is can keep for the morning. It's late"

"And leave you here to mull over the Stewart case? Nah. I'll stick around for a bit. If you can handle it, I can handle it"

She smiles at him again, wanting to roll her eyes, but she doesn't, because his boss just told him to stop clocking overtime and go home for the weekend, and instead he's waiting around for her. She knows it shouldn't, but that means something. Something deep. And she realises that he considers her a real friend. It's not the first time the thought has occurred to her, she knows, as she absently rubs the place on her back that bruised all those weeks ago. Still, to have it confirmed in the safety of her office and not in the heat of the moment after saving her life is wonderful and unexpected.

He doesn't squirm under her considering gaze, the way he might have when she first took the job, and that speaks a lot to their familiarity too, because she knows she can come across as intimidating and standoffish, and to be honest, she likes having that ability. He doesn't look the least bit phased, his coffee resting on his knee with one hand, a lazy smirk on his face.

Putting her mug down on the piece of paper again, she makes a decision.

"Tell you what…" she starts, palming the table as she measures her words. "Why don't we finish up the last of what we're doing, I'll finish this-" She gestures to her tea. "- and then we both get out of here? I was just thinking of packing it in anyway"

His smirk turns into a friendly grin.

"Don't have to tell me twice, Captain" he says, and her rank sounds more like a friendly term of endearment than an acknowledgement of her position.

She'd never had much camaraderie at IA, beyond some of the guys she'd worked with for years, and it's been almost two decades since she's been part of a squad that riffed on each other and joked around and called each other stupid nicknames. This is the closest she's come in long time to having some of that back, and he must be confused as to why she could suddenly giggle with joy, or maybe cry.

She doesn't, of course, but she smiles back at him.

"Well, how about we give it twenty, then lights out, go home, it's tomorrow's problem?"

He gives her the sloppiest salute she's ever seen and hauls himself out of her chair, his coffee in one hand, the other slipping into his pant pocket.

She smiles after him, noting the way he doesn't close her door again on the way out. Turning back to her paperwork, she makes a quick calculation, summing up what she can get done in twenty minutes. It feels like barely a minute has passed when she hears a tap against the doorframe. She looks up, her glasses perched on the end of her nose, and sees Andy standing there, his suit jacket back on and his tie in his hand.

With wide eyes she looks between him and the clock, and he grins openly at her, not moving further in, but not stepping back from the door either.

"Alright" she says, throwing up her hands, looking down to her papers. "I'm on my way"

Quickly packing away the files, she stacks them together and places them neatly in her top draw, ready to be handled again in the morning. She takes her jacket off the back of her chair and swings her arms into it, flicking her hair out of the collar and haphazardly throwing her keys and phone into her handbag.

"Have you eaten?" asks Andy as she comes around her desk to flick the light switch, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder, walking past his arm where he's gesturing for her to go first. The dim lighting finally divests her of the last of her work mentality as they walk to the elevators, and she straightens her spine and loosens her gait, relaxed for the first time in hours. There is nobody else on their floor, a single fluorescent light on in the hall for the cleaner. It's eerie, and somewhat intimate.

"I had a little something earlier, but honestly I'm starving"

She drags out the last word in her lower register, almost groaning with hunger, and he smirks at her again, because it's not unusual to be reminded that she's human like the rest of them, but it's still nice.

"I know this great little diner, stays open real late- has the best veggie lasagne you've ever tasted… other than mine, of course"

He punctuates his words with hand gestures and a lick of his lips, and she smiles at his enthusiasm.

"Sounds perfect. I'll follow you"

He had forgotten for a moment that they're in two cars, and though he thinks to offer to take her, it'll only create the issue of carpooling in the morning. It's easier to not worry, and he doesn't quite understand why that sends a feeling of disappointment running through him.

"Sure you can keep up?" he asks with a smirk, the elevator dinging.

She says nothing, just steps through the opening doors, giving him a sly look out of the corner of her eye, a smug look on her face, the corner of her mouth quirking and one eyebrow twitching just so. He understands his disappointment now.

They stand side by side in the elevator, each with one hand in a pocket, her other hand holding the handle of her bag.

"Tell me something" she starts, making him turn to her. "And be honest. How often do you stay this late on a Friday to finish paperwork?"

Her tone is light, almost teasing, though not quite. He shrugs, thinking to himself.

"Not often" he says.

She hums in response, turning to look at the numbers that have just reached the carpark level.

"Why?" he asks, the doors opening.

"No reason" she replies dismissively, walking in the direction of her car. "Try not to lose me at any lights"

She smiles at him as they part, and he smiles back, shaking his lingering questions away and moving to his own car. She's a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma, but he's starting to see that actually she's not that complex once she's comfortable in her space. He now knows that she's a lot tougher than she looks, or that he gave her credit for, but she's still a fallible human being, with the same hang-ups and heartaches that anyone of her position or age is likely to have. He'd like to find a way to get to know more about her past- about where she came from and what made her the way she is- but he's not sure how to ask. He'd like to know something about her kids, like what they studied or where they're living. Just something to help him understand her better. In some ways he knows her very well, and in others not at all, and it's starting to frustrate him for reasons he can't understand, or perhaps doesn't want to analyse.

Pulling out of the garage, her headlights reflecting in his rear vision mirror, he turns the car in the direction of his favourite all-nighter and sees her following behind the whole way.

They find car spaces right next to each other and just outside the front door and he waits for her to grab her handbag before moving to the door, opening it for her as she approaches. She gives him a thankful look, somewhat surprised, or perhaps confused, and he just smiles in response. For all his roguish ways, he was raised a gentleman, or at least tries to be. Plus it never hurts to make a good impression with the boss.

She slides gracefully into a booth and allows him to order for her, asking only for water with her meal. She grins at him as he chats with a waitress he's clearly known for years, and he only shrugs when the young woman walks away.

"What can I say, I'm a regular"

"Evidently" she says with a smirk.

"No judging" he says, pointing his finger.

She holds her hands up, pursing her lips, raising her eyebrows. He smirks back at her and she rests her arms on the table, fingers curling in so she can rest her chin on one hand. He can't help but admire her; how she can make such a simple gesture look so elegant. It's something he's always noticed; her ability to gracefully fill a room and bring all focus to her without ever raising her voice or demanding the attention. She's not a tyrant, but she is the boss, and it's a position she was clearly born for, in the way that he imagines royalty are born with the inherent knowledge of how to command a space. She can't have always been that way, surely, he thinks. But then he remembers that she'd brought Provenza and his old partner up on a complaint all those years ago, and a mental image of a younger, haughty Sharon Raydor huffing her way into a superior's office and demanding action fills his mind. He has to focus on not showing what he's thinking, because no, he thinks, she was always like this, and that's just downright funny.

"You know, I don't think… if fact I'm certain- I haven't had a midnight meal since I started at Major Crimes full time"

She sounds almost gleeful, like she's staying out past curfew, and he remembers that Rusty has been with her since day one and this might just be her first Friday night off. She's been nothing but attentive to the boy and for that he admires her, because her patience is something to be praised, and he knows he doesn't have that in him.

"Well, there's a first time for everything" he says with a grin.

The waitress drops their meals in front of them, effectively breaking their eye contact, and he hears her stomach grumble at the smell of food in front of them. He chuckles, and she laughs at herself, picking up her cutlery and cutting a huge piece of lasagne for herself. She moans in delight when she chews into it, rolling her eyes a little in pleasure, and he can't help but find that a little bit erotic. He understands that she's actually not an ice queen; that she's been married, and has children, and may or may not have been single since her husband was off the scene all those years ago. Even so, the sound of her moaning in pure pleasure at the best lasagne in town (other than his own) is enough to shock his system, because it's just so far removed from any other noise he hears her make, including her plethora of hums and grumbles.

He gives her a pointed look over his own forkful of food, and she jabs her knife in the direction of her plate.

"This is just so good" she says around a mouth full of food. "You were right"

"I told ya" he replies with a grin, continuing to look her over as he shovels a large morsel into his own mouth. She grins at him as she swallows her food and wastes no time in cutting herself another piece, and he's bold enough- and perhaps stupid enough- to label this in his head as a date.

He doesn't care that he's out of line; it's just past midnight and he's eating the second-best lasagne in the world with a beautiful woman. He'll call this what he likes.

They take their time finishing their meal, and end up ordering hot drinks as the conversation lingers, though she has tea so she won't be awake all night. She makes a wise-crack about a cocky young man that flirts with the waitress and he snorts into his cup, spitting out his coffee, making her laugh along with him. He tells her a funny story about him and Provenza- one that's innocent enough to not land him in trouble- and she laughs deep in her belly, and sometime after one in the morning they realise they have to get home at some point.

He lets her pay her share of the cheque, because it doesn't yet feel appropriate to insist on such things, and he catches her humming along to an old rock classic on the radio as she's putting her purse back in her handbag.

"Didn't peg you for a Toto fan" he says with a sideways smirk. She only raises her eyebrow at him in a way that's far too sly for his liking.

"I told you- there are many things you don't know about me" she replies simply, swinging her bag onto her shoulder and leading them out. She pulls the door open and he grabs it to allow them both to step through.

"Oh yeah? Like what?" he challenges as she steps into the night air.

She hums airily. "Wouldn't you like to know"

"I would, actually" he says lightly, without leer.

"I'm sure" she replies instantly.

She regards him without losing her teasing look, analysing him through her glasses, one hand on her handbag strap and the other in her pocket. He lets her look, feeling generous. The moment lasts barely a few seconds, but it feels like a lifetime, and for a moment he thinks he's overstepped, but she only calmly removes her eyes from him to look in her bag, pulling it open to look for her keys. Once they're in her hand she stands straight in front of him, both of them in front of the space between their cars.

"I had a good time tonight, Lieutenant" she says earnestly. His rank sounds friendlier from her than it ever has before. He wonders if he has that same tone of familiarity when he addresses her by rank, and thinks he surely must.

"I'm glad. You'll have to remember this place. Maybe bring the kid next time"

"Maybe. You did promise great food, and they didn't disappoint"

"They never do" he says, shrugging his shoulders.

"Thank you" she says with sincerity, moving to go to her car after a moment of consideration.

"No worries"

She clicks the remote to unlock the doors and opens the driver's side, tossing her bag onto the passenger seat.

"I'll see you in the morning" he says, his sentence pitching at the end to sound half questioning.

"That you will. And not too early. It's a Saturday. Taylor's lucky we're even coming in at all"

They smile over the roof of his car- light silly smiles that reflect the mood of the night.

"Sounds good" he says with a soft smile.

"I'll see you then"

"Yep. Drive safe"

"I always do"

The parting exchange feels familiar in a way that it shouldn't; comfortable and easy, which is both wonderful and completely confusing to her. They both get in their cars, and she notices him lurking to make sure she's safely leaving, following out just behind her. She smiles to herself. She waves to him in her rearview mirror as she reaches the carpark exit, and he flicks his high-beams at her in acknowledgement, and then they're driving in opposite directions to their respective sides of town.

She's had too good of a night to consider just what it was, and so she plans to just get home and set her alarm for a couple of hours later than usual, and let herself fall into a dreamless sleep. She's content to just allow this to be an enjoyable and relaxing meal with a colleague; she hasn't had that much fun in a long while.

She smiles despite herself as she pulls up to a red light. She turns the radio volume up just a fraction and finds herself humming along to Dire Straits all the way home.


	3. Seven Eight Time

_Prompt: drinking. Many thanks for the support so far and please let me know what you think. _

_Raydor/Flynn pre-ship, with significant Mumma!Raydor. _

_7/8 time signature: An irregular beat, sounding almost like a hiccup in a normal 4/4 bar, like you've forgotten the next note, or held the last one just a fraction too long. Tricky to catch, weird to play, uncomfortable to read, and beautiful to hear._

_**Seven Eight Time**_

She's sitting at her desk, signing off on the last of her weekly reports, when she hears his voice filter in from the murder room. Someone, probably Sykes, had mentioned her name, and with a nod she sees Andy respond and head for her office door. She's putting the closed file in her 'out' pile just as he pokes his head around the door frame, rapping lightly on the door with his knuckles.

She smiles in greeting, standing up from her desk, raising her eyebrows in question.

"Hey Captain, you wanna come with us for drinks? We're all heading down to the bar around the corner"

There is no trace of condescension or insincerity in his tone, and for that she is grateful, because inviting the boss to Friday drinks might be considered good form, but the last thing she wants to be is the interloper. There have been times when she's been deliberately snubbed of an offer- an act considered by some to be one of the lowest displays of disrespect- but she'd rather be not invited than accept an invitation and stick out like a sore thumb. She didn't choose her career to make friends, but it sure is nice to have them.

"Oh, I don't know" she says. "I should really get home, it's already late"

For a moment she thinks he looks disappointed.

"The kid at home?" he asks, understanding and sympathy all rolled in one.

"He is"

"You can't spare a couple of hours?" he asks, looking hopeful, and she wonders why he's pushing so hard. "Just one drink?"

She smiles to herself and takes a brief moment think it over. "One drink" she agrees, nodding her head to the side in happy defeat, collecting her bag. "But then I really have to get home"

"Understood" he nods, standing to the side of the doorway as she turns out her office light and then walks past him. She walks out to the murder room as everyone is turning off their computers and sliding into their jackets.

"Hey Captain, you comin'?" asks Sanchez with a grin.

"One drink" answers Andy, with exaggerated emphasis, which makes her smirk.

She takes quiet notice of Provenza. He looks to the ceiling, almost rolling his eyes, but it's too forced and too deliberate for it to be genuine displeasure, and a feeling of security rolls down her spine. If Provenza has come to accept her place here, maybe she does belong after all.

"Rusty's at home and I don't want to leave him by himself for too long. Technically he shouldn't be alone at all, but hey, one drink can't hurt"

"Ah, the kid'll be fine" says Provenza, waving his hand. She can hear affection in his voice. They all love him too, she knows. "What's a half hour? He's probably too busy playing video games to notice"

She lets out a soft laugh in acknowledgement, and they all walk as a group towards the elevators. Sykes and Sanchez are discussing something that happened earlier in the day, and the rest are happy to listen in, the week rolling off their backs as the weekend finally begins. Her phone dings, and she looks at the screen with a smile, seeing Rusty's impatient text waiting for her and a request for pizza. She fires off a quick response, promising to be home soon, and being ambiguous about his dinner choice. She knows she'll end up giving in.

"So Captain" starts Tao. "How did Rusty go on his big test?"

"Oh, very well I think. He'll get it back next week, but he seems confident. I can't thank you enough for helping him study for it- honestly I have no idea when it comes to high school chemistry"

"That's good. I was happy to help. God knows I've done it for my son enough times to be good at it"

"Well I really appreciate it, Mike"

If they notice everyone else in the elevator smiling they don't mention it. The doors open and they file out, Andy's hand landing at the small of her back as he ushers her out in front of him. She thinks nothing of it, though physical contact is not the norm for them. An occasional touch here or there is barely noticed when it happens, and she belatedly thinks that could be dangerous, but it's too late to change now, and if she stops him it will only make a scene. His hand falls away only a moment later. She kind of misses it.

"You know where to go?" he asks her lightly, not loud enough to inspire derision from the others.

She gives him a look out of the corner of her eye, softened by the half smile she also gives, and he just shrugs his shoulders and holds his hands palm-up, backing towards his car with a boyish grin.

"I'll follow you" she replies sarcastically, and his laughter is music to her ears as they both slide into their cars, parked only a few spaces apart. Every cop in the office knows the dive-in-the-wall they're talking about.

The bar is half packed and they only manage to find a tall standing table in the centre of the floor space. Sanchez and Tao run off with the drink order, Buzz had left the office right on five and so is understandably absent, and Amy sees an old friend and excuses herself for a moment to run across to a booth full of young women. For a moment there's a chance for their little table to get awkward, as none of the remaining three know what to say to each other. Sharon bends her knees a little, wincing at the pressure of her heels on her feet. It's been a long day.

"Delicate knees, Captain?" asks Provenza with fake concern, though his mood is friendly enough, so she doesn't feel put out.

"I love these shoes, but they are absolutely killing me" she admits, bending her knees again.

"Well, then why the hell do you wear them?" asks Andy.

Provenza cuts off any response, pitching his voice high and flitting his eyelids, his cadence taking on a mild southern lilt that feels familiar. "Because they just look so good, can't you see how good they look, fashion over comfort, Andrew, fashion over comfort" He flicks his invisible hair over one shoulder for emphasis.

She can't help herself. She bursts out laughing.

She think she must have shocked them, because they both just stand there grinning at her antics, but she lets out a deep alto laugh and bends over, almost knocking her head on the high table in the process. She looks up at Provenza again after a moment, and another little round of giggles escapes, but she pulls herself together and straightens up.

"I'm sorry" she says. They are both still grinning stupidly at her, and she knows that was the last response they ever expected from her.

Tao and Sanchez arrive back at their table with the drinks, ushering Amy over from across the bar.

"What did we miss?"

"Provenza's a girl and the Captain can laugh" says Andy, grinning at her one more time out of the corner of his eye.

"Really?" asks Sanchez, seemingly surprised as he looks at her, but after a single moment his gaze flicks to Provenza as he adds "You're secretly a woman?"

They all chuckle at that, raising their glasses just slightly in acknowledgement before drinking.

"Oh, there's nothing like an ice-cold drink to finish the week" says Provenza, practically smacking his lips as he takes a second, smaller sip.

"I'll drink to that, Lieutenant" replies Sharon, raising her wine glass in his direction before putting it down on the table.

"So Captain, any plans for the weekend?" asks Tao.

"I was thinking of taking Rusty to The La Brea Tar Pits. He mentioned he's never been, and it's been quite some time since I went myself"

"You're taking the boy to look at a hole full of tar?" asks Provenza, an incredulous look on his face.

"Many holes, open working pits, and a museum" amends Tao.

"And a movie after" adds Sharon with a smirk. "As a reward for putting up with the hard task of seeing one of this city's most famous sites"

"Museum and a movie. Sounds like a great day out. What about the other half?" asks Andy, having a sip of his cranberry soda, a grin on his face.

"Hopefully housework" she replies, her answering grin disappearing behind the rim of her glass as she also takes a sip. The rest all chuckle at her, obviously not finding it hard to imagine her ordering Rusty around with the vacuum cleaner.

"Well I plan on sitting on the couch, watching television and doing absolutely nothing" says Provenza.

"What's new" mutters Tao, but it goes unnoticed.

"What about you Flynn? Got a hot date?" asks Sanchez.

"Maybe" he replies with a sly look. They've all turned back to the conversation before she notices his lasting gaze on her, and before she can give a look of her own, he has turned back to the friendly banter of the group. She doesn't know what to make of his attention. She's been noticing it more and more; the looks, the touches, the meaningful expressions, the way he is so quick to defend her when suspects get mouthy, the way he's the first to volunteer to help her or partner with her. The way he's taken to staying late if she does. The way those nights so often linger, not because of workload, but because they end up talking the night away.

The way he never asks anymore how she takes her tea or coffee, or whether she needs one, though he's always right.

She shakes herself out of her reverie quickly, and takes another long sip of her wine. It's almost finished, and for that she's grateful, because she needs to get home to Rusty, and she doesn't need to be standing in a bar considering her Lieutenant out of the corner of her eye.

She doesn't think there's anything untoward about officers developing friendships among themselves; often units thrive on those allegiances. She just can't for the life of her understand why Andy has chosen her of all people as his latest ally, and though it would be an easy explanation to hide behind, she doesn't think it's because he wants her to be his latest conquest. It's a flattering thought, but also erroneous and totally self-indulgent. Besides, she thinks, he may not even be aware of the extra attention he gives her, and she might just be noticing something that's not there. The thought of it being more than a coincidence is ridiculous, and she shakes it away.

She takes a backseat in the conversation, listening and laughing, but happy to merely be a spectator. Her drink is gone only a little while later, and she notices Andy's is too, and she thinks nothing of it until she collects her things to go.

"You heading off, Captain?" asks Sanchez, as Sykes downs her beer and gestures for another.

"I am. Rusty's expecting me and dinner, so I better…"

She throws her jacket over her arm and her bag over her opposite shoulder.

"Thank you for the invite, and I'm sorry I couldn't stay longer" she says, hoping her presence tonight has inspired further invitations.

"No worries, Captain"

"Have fun tomorrow"

"I will, thank you. See you all on Monday. Goodnight everyone"

She's just turning to leave when she notices Andy is following her, and she shoots him a questioning glare, berating herself for reasons she doesn't quite understand.

"I'll walk you to your car" he says simply, and if he sees the suspicious look Provenza gives, he doesn't acknowledge it. She's too polite to dismiss his offer, and so only nods again, an unreadable expression on her face, and allows him to walk her out of the crowded bar and across the carpark.

"Thank you, Andy. You didn't have to"

"I know. But we wouldn't want some bad guy jumping out at you"

His comment should sound condescending, and in any other context she would assume it is, but there's nobody around, and he looks just innocent enough that she thinks he was honestly a bit worried for her. She's completely taken by surprise, and doesn't know what to say. She stares at him for a long, solid moment, and he lets her, neither moving away nor flinching under her gaze. If he's giving her a moment to size him up, she doesn't quite know what her assessment would be. If not, he's doing a marvellous job of staying cool, or hiding his embarrassment. She's fairly good at reading people, but here, under the dim lights of the local dive, she has no idea what his motives are, and it's both exciting and terrifying.

"Well, thank you for being my knight in shining armour. You've delivered me safely to my car"

Her voice sounds as unsteady as she feels, and though she manages to say goodbye and get into the driver's seat without making a fool of herself, she ends up watching him all the way to the door of the bar, his hands slipping lazily in his pockets, a relaxed look on his face. She curses herself for being thrown so easily, and ends up recalling their every interaction on her way home, looking for the moment when they became friends; looking deeper to see if she's misinterpreted something more.

She doesn't find her answers.

When she walks inside, Rusty is watching television on the couch, his feet on the coffee table, his laptop discarded on the seat beside him. He greets her in true teenage fashion (barely at all), and she smiles, because not so long ago he would have been up and trying to be helpful, and before that he would have ignored or abused her. He finally considers this place his home, and it never fails to warm her heart.

She makes her way to the fridge and indulges in another glass of wine as she grabs a can of soda for her charge, and it feels completely decadent and childish to collect the almost-empty ice cream container from the freezer and bring it to the couch with two spoons.

"What about dinner?" is his first question. She almost laughs.

"I don't remember it ever killing anybody to have dessert first. So long as you promise to have something after"

"Sure. What're we having?"

He's already opened the can and is mixing it with his mouthful of ice cream in his mouth. She has a fleeting thought that they should make ice cream floats, but she saves it for another day, or maybe as a bribe for when she next needs one.

"I was thinking… pizza" she replies, deliberately casual as she keeps her eyes on the television, flicking her killer heals off with a happy sigh. She can still see him grinning widely from the corner of her eye.

"Seriously? Can we even get pepperoni?"

"Whatever you want" she confirms with a smile, turning to him.

"Alright"

He launches himself off the couch, and she hears him take the phone and make the delivery order in record time. She smiles to herself. She still can't figure out Andy, or what his behaviour is all about, but her relationship with Rusty has never been stronger, and she considers that a positive. Her phone dings in her pocket, and she rolls her eyes as she sees Andy's name pop up on the screen. He's checking to see she got home okay. It's accompanied by a sarcastic smiley face, but it still sounds like he cares, and she is getting so darn confused by his behaviour she merely sends back a dismissive thanks and hopes that's the end of it. Her world has only just found equilibrium again, between a job change and Rusty, and the boy's father- she doesn't need his mood to add another complication. She shakes herself back into the present at the sound of Rusty's voice in the kitchen.

"I was thinking, if you're not busy, you and I could hit the town tomorrow" she calls, as he comes back into the room behind her.

"Pizza's gonna be twenty" he says, flopping back into the cushions next to her, just a little closer than before. She deliberately bumps her head against his, and they both smile.

"What do you say?" she asks.

"Where to?"

"The Tar Pits"

"Really? I heard the museum is really cool. They have these mammoth bones and a whole wall of direwolf skulls- James was telling me about it after he went with his cousin"

"So what do you say? Hit up a museum with an old maid?"

He grins at her, because they've become better at making fun of themselves, and each other, and he made some crack at her the other night about being of the wrong generation to truly appreciate social media. It had led to a passionate exchange of the best that each decade had to offer, and though he had already seen her eclectic taste in music, he had never pegged her for a lover of old Hollywood.

"I'd love to go to the museum with you, but I won't be holding your walker steady around the park. You're on your own"

She throws her head back and laughs at him, deep in her belly. Despite her mixed feelings, this night has at least been one for laughter.

Rusty only takes another swig of his soda, and she picks up her wine and takes a sip, swinging her feet onto the coffee table next to his, surprising him. She's never told him off for doing it- he figures after her own kids she's given up trying- but he's never seen her so much as brush the edge of the table with her toe. It's a strangely comforting gesture. Once his program is finished, and the pizza delivered and devoured, Rusty flicks the channel to an old movie and together they watch Ann Miller flit across the screen.

By the time her head hits the pillow, a little later than normal, all thoughts of Andy are far from her mind, and if she dreams of him, she doesn't remember it. It's only in the morning, while they're making pancakes and debating which movie session they want to see, that she'll notice the picture he's texted to her, of a drunken Amy leaning on Sanchez's shoulder with a grin, and a goofy Provenza giving her bunny ears, and Tao holding up a set of car keys he's obviously confiscated. She'll laugh, and show Rusty, and reply that she's sorry she missed it, and wonder why he bothered to send it to her at all given she's their boss. She'll save the picture to her phone, and think of something witty to say about it, and ponder where she would have fit in had she stayed at the bar long enough. And after a full day out with Rusty, and a relaxing evening at home, she'll look at the picture again, and decide that she probably would have been standing right next to Andy as he took the picture, tipsy enough to be laughing, sober enough not to kiss him.

And that thought terrifies her.

_A/N: Thanks to Cami (akachankami) for another great prompt, despite her busy schedule. This one was based on a conversation I had with a cop who is very close to (read: lives with) me. The ritual of Friday night drinks is an important part of building rapport and trust within a unit, and snubbing the boss is seen as great/huge/deliberate disrespect, regardless of whether or not they'll actually go. This little ritual reminded me of Sharon, and I finally have a place to put it. _


	4. Slow Dance

_Written as a prompt-fic for __authorjazmyne__: Sharon/Andy, dancing. _

_Fluff, fluffety fluff, pre-ship, and I'm gonna say we're starting to steer somewhat away from canon at this point. I'm throwing it in this series because it kind of fits. Whatever, it's here, you're welcome._

_Thank you once again to my wonderful reviewers, and to those who are still reading. Please let me know what you think._

_**Slow Dance**_

She's walking into the elevator, lost in her own little world, when a voice sounds behind her.

"Hold the door"

She recognises who it is, and throws her hand out to keep the elevator door open, smiling when Andy comes into view. He's surprised to find that it's just the two of them, but as it so often happens, they are the last two left on a random Tuesday night after wrapping up their latest murder.

"Captain" he says. His tone sounds friendlier than the use of her rank would suggest.

"Andy" she replies with a soft smile, comfortable to use his given name now that they're off duty.

They ride in silence for a short moment, relaxed in each other's presence, but there's a surprising tension in the air, and she can't quite figure out why they're both shuffling their feet. She feels ridiculous; she feels like she's sixteen again. It must be the ambiguity in their friendship that does this, because she's never been timid in relationships, and she's never been reluctant to make friends, and Andy doesn't strike her as the kind of man to be unsure of himself while riding in an elevator with a colleague. When he breaks the silence she almost sighs with relief.

"You and the kid have big plans for tonight?"

"Well, sort of" she replies, looking at him briefly with a smile. He answers with a questioning look. "Rusty has his first school dance coming up, and all the students are expected to… dance"

She's not prepared for his boisterous laugh, but she gladly joins in. She nods at him, acknowledging how ridiculous that sounds.

"You're kidding? Dances, with real dancing? I didn't know schools still did that"

"Apparently the Catholics do"

"Let me guess; the kid's got no idea"

She hums instead of laughs, her eyes going wide for a moment.

"And you've decided you have to teach him?"

"Well, he refuses to go to after-school practices" she says in her defence, smiling. "But he's going to be expected to dance at least once, so, yes, I suppose it has fallen to me"

"You out of practice, Captain?" he asks with a smirk. She turns to him and smirks right back; their relationship- whatever it may be- seems easier to deal with when they're teasing each other.

"It's been a while, but I think I can remember the steps" she replies, nothing short of suggestive.

He seems impressed by her willingness to play along. Perhaps it's because she's known him so long; perhaps it's because he's proved himself a friend and an ally; perhaps it's because she likes him right back. Whatever the reason, she feels emboldened by his attitude, and surprises herself by not being the least bit intimidated by the situation. She knows her own strengths and weaknesses. She knows she can flirt shamelessly with a man she's threatening with a lawsuit, but turns shy when asked where she wants to go for dinner on a date. It's less about self-consciousness and more about still feeling married, despite the separation and the lovers since. She's never found something better than her husband; never had a relationship during her separation in which she's been in love enough to ask for a divorce. In many ways it keeps her love life simple; it provides a measurement and scale by which to judge her feelings. But it also makes her uncertain on how to react to other men, knowing that bond still exists, and knowing she'll always love her husband in some small way.

Despite all that, with Andy she feels single again, and that feels dangerous.

They're stepping out of the elevator on the carpark level when she breaks their impasse, blurting out the first thing on her mind.

"I was wondering… -oh, no, never mind-"

"What?"

She meets his eyes, and for all the flirting of before, his look is earnest and his eyes wide, and it's that distinction- that ability he has to turn it off- that makes her think that this time it might be different.

She considers not continuing her thought, but she holds his gaze and he searches her, wondering, and she decides to just bite the bullet and go for it.

"What I was going to ask was… well, it seems a bit ridiculous, but…" She sighs, and cuts herself off with a roll of her eyes. "I was wondering if you would mind helping me… tonight… with teaching Rusty"

His open expression turns soft, and then almost a grin, before landing somewhere in the alarming vicinity of tender.

"I've never had to teach the male half before- my husband showed my son his part, so, you see, I'm a little out of my league"

"I thought you said you remembered the steps" he says with a soft grin.

"For the woman's part I do" she concedes, adjusting her bag strap on her shoulder and gripping it for something to do. They look at each other for a moment, caught between awkwardness and friendship, teetering on the edge of flirting, but not quite making it. Mostly she just hopes he'll accept, because teaching Rusty how to dance from the wrong side is going to be frustrating as hell.

"Sure. I'll show him the ropes"

"Oh, thank you" she says, sagging with relief. "I truly appreciate that"

He nods at her, never losing the grin.

"I'll follow you?" he asks, gesturing vaguely towards the few cars remaining in the lot, including their own, parked side by side. She nods as they continue walking.

"Yes"

He nods, and they unlock their doors and open them.

"And Andy? Thank you again. It's an unusual request and-"

"No worries. I'm happy to help"

She nods again with a half-smile and slips into her car, pulling out in front of him and leading him all the way to her condo. She hums along to the radio, and almost forgets he's even there until they pull up at her building. She takes her assigned space as he continues on to a guest park, and they meet again at the stairwell.

Rusty greets her at the door as he's walking back into the living room from the hallway, and he falters only slightly when he notices Andy walking in behind her.

"Have you eaten?" she asks him, dumping her bag near the front door and her keys on the sideboard.

"I had some Twisties" he says. Sharon scoffs at him and shakes her head with a smirk. Andy is standing behind her, just inside the door, grinning at the exchange. He's seen them together often enough to see how their dynamic works, but it's never been in her own domain before, and he notices immediately that her demeanour softens and her shoulders relax as soon as she steps further into her home. She absently shakes one hand through her hair as she walks in front of him to the living area, her skirt swishing lightly, and he can see how comfortable she is in this space. This is her home, and he discretely looks around, taking note of the taste and decorating. She's classy, but not flashy; upmarket, and a little bit homey. The lamps are on, casting a yellow glow, and the papers strewn across the desk and table give the impression that the place is well lived-in, if a little too neat.

He immediately likes it.

"So, dinner first, and then Lieutenant Flynn here has very graciously spared his time to help you practice dancing"

Andy follows her into the kitchen as Rusty groans, and he tries not to smile, but he's getting the feeling that this arrangement was not necessarily a mutual agreement.

"I told you I didn't want to dance at this stupid ball" moans Rusty, following them and stopping on the dining side of the kitchen island. Andy seems unsure of where to stand and so stops with his hands in his pockets near the edge of the kitchen, close enough to offer a hand but not so close that he's in the way.

"And I told you that you're not going to be the only boy moping on the sidelines"

"I don't even have anyone to dance with, Sharon"

"That won't matter. No doubt they'll pair you all up before the big day"

Andy doesn't contain his grin at that, and the way she just waves away Rusty's concerns with a flick of her wrist is more amusing than it has any right to be, as she spins to collect a pot from a bottom cupboard.

"So how was school today? Did you hand that assignment in?" she asks, changing the subject for the moment, going to the fridge to collect ingredients. Andy steps forward and helps, desperate for something to do. She smiles her thanks.

"Yeah. But we got that extension like I said we would, so I don't see why I had to have it done so early"

"Doesn't matter. You've done it on time like the teacher originally asked; it's good practice for college"

"Oh, please, not this again"

The next hour passes in a flash, the three of them working to prepare dinner, set the table, and serve the food, all while talking about the mundane, the everyday. Andy assists in making a simple bolognaise, and though they expect a level of awkwardness over the three of them sitting at the table and sharing a meal, there isn't any. Rusty regales them with tales of his chess team, and the English teacher who spent half of the class explaining the importance of the red dress in the book they're reading. Andy laughs and Sharon smiles, and it's only once they're cleaning up that they remember why Andy has come in the first place.

He gestures to the living room, looking at her, pointing in the direction of her couch and coffee table, just as Rusty is putting the ice cream bowls in the dishwasher.

"Oh. Right"

She shakes herself out of her thoughts and taps Rusty on the shoulder, which only makes him roll his eyes. The three of them move the couch backwards and the coffee table towards the window, providing almost the entire space of the rug in which to dance. Sharon cues up a CD, and a moment later a respectable waltz floats through the surround sound. Andy gives her a bemused expression, and she only shrugs, not feeling the need to explain why she has this music at the ready. Rusty is watching them, suspicious but not cynical. He's seen them at work, but this dynamic- in her house, both without their shoes or jackets, fed and relaxed- is as new for him as it is for them, and he's not sure what to make of it.

"Okay kid. First thing's first"

He gestures for Sharon to come onto the mat, and positions Rusty in front of her, almost a foot away.

"Hands" says Andy.

Already the boy looks panicked.

"It's okay, Rusty" soothes Sharon gently. "Here, see, right hand here, at the waist-"

"Notice- it's the waist, not her ass"

Rusty blushes furiously, and almost decides then and there that he's going to be ill on the night of this ball. Sharon almost laughs, but spares him that embarrassment, shooting a half-hearted warning at Andy, who can't contain his smirk.

"- and the other hand holds mine" finishes Sharon. "See? So you're in a position to lead"

"Lead, not drag" adds Andy. "You're the leader, but you have to be on time, so she can follow"

"Don't be an asshole, got it"

"Language" mutters Sharon.

Her automated tone sounds far too practiced. Andy gives another grin.

"Chicks love a guy who can dance" he says.

"Yes, because I'm such a chick magnet"

"Okay, so, next is the beat" says Sharon, cutting off their friendly ribbing before it even thinks about becoming serious. "It's a three-four beat… can you hear it?"

"Yeah, I think. Kinda"

"Okay, so, we're gonna go… one, two, three, one, two, three…"

They don't move for a moment, allowing Rusty to count in his head. He's looking at their feet, and as Sharon gently pulls him in the right direction, Andy steps behind him, hands on his shoulders, to gently guide his movements. It's clumsy, and staggered, and at the moment not on the beat of the music playing, but it is a waltz, and she thinks that he's much more of a natural than her son was. Andy makes small corrections here and there, muttering instructions to him as they go, giving him pointers on what movements to make and how to hold his arms.

"Feel it?" asks Sharon, once they've picked up enough speed to dance on the beat of the music. "One, two, three…"

"Okay, but, like, what direction do I go?"

"You lead any way you like, just so long as it's fluid, and in time, and don't make it awkward for your partner" answers Andy, letting his hands drop, taking a step back so Rusty can take over.

"Remember, she'll be in heals" adds Sharon.

"Right"

"It's your job, kid, to lead her nicely- make sure she doesn't fall over your feet. So it's up to you where you go, but make it glide"

"Glide?"

"Right"

"Okay, so, try on your own" encourages Sharon, strengthening her arms back into a pose.

Rusty meets her eyes, searching and thoroughly embarrassed, but she only smiles at him, tender like a doting mother, and nods once, giving him her unquestioning trust. He starts bobbing his head in time to the music, muttering the beats under his breath, and with a deep breath he leads Sharon backwards in their first steps. He almost catches her toes, but doesn't, and she's so proud.

Andy only stands to the side and smiles.

He leads her around a few more times, mostly without fault, though it's still shaky, and she makes the occasional correction in his movement, giving him advice from the female's point of view. By the time the lesson is closing, the CD nearing the end of its tracks, she's confident that he'll get the hang of it in time, with a little more practice.

"You did good kid" says Andy, clapping his shoulder.

Rusty gives a sheepish grin, and quickly excuses himself, belatedly thanking them both over his shoulder. He disappears down the hall to his room, ostensibly to change from his uniform into his pyjamas and get ready for bed. They both smile after him, standing in the middle of the rug, her arms folded loosely around her, his hands in his pants pockets, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow, tie long discarded with his jacket and shoes.

"He did well" says Sharon, pride colouring her tone.

"So did you" he counters, and she turns to face him. "You remembered the steps after all"

"You weren't so bad yourself" she says.

It should feel like innocent flirting, like their elevator conversation, only it doesn't.

The lamps are still casting their soft glow, and the music is still filtering through the speakers, and they're both barefoot and relaxed in the open space of her living room, and it suddenly feels very intimate. He might just be riding on the vibes of the night, and later she could try and blame her customary glass of wine, but for whatever reason, when he holds out his hand to her she doesn't hesitate in taking it, and suddenly they're slow waltzing across the mat. His steps are light as air; a stark contrast to Rusty's fumbling. She hasn't been dancing in years, and hasn't danced in her living room since she was (happily) married, and it's almost enough to make her head spin. Before she can dwell, the CD ends, and the stacker immediately cues the next one, and a new track starts; a slow dance, not enough beat behind it to keep waltzing, not fast enough to stay far apart.

She meets his gaze, hand still resting in his, his hand still warm against her back, far enough from her ass that she doesn't feel in any way vulnerable. She almost smiles at that. He's watching her closely, and keeps watching as he moves fractionally closer and starts to lead her again, barely side to side. It's a gentle rock; a leaf on a breeze.

She lets him.

She knows his reputation with women. She finds it amusing most of the time, and juvenile the rest of the time, but she gets the distinct impression that slow dancing in their living room is not a normal occurrence. It certainly hasn't been a regular event with any of her lovers.

Again she is thrown into a spin regarding their relationship, and what it is, and what could be. If he was ever serious about courting her, she would expect him to pull any number of his usual moves right now, perhaps toned down for the sake of her ward down the hall. If he's not serious, she can't think of a single good reason why he'd lead her on in such a humble manner, devoid of malice, selfless and sweet. It doesn't feel like he's doing either of these things.

He seems, from what she can see, as inexplicably caught in this as she is. He seems just as unsure of everything, except where to put his feet.

He seems mesmerised.

She takes a long, hard blink, and clears her mind, and lets her eyes fall completely shut as his head moves just slightly closer to hers, his cheek coming to rest against the side of her hair. She feels him, close as they are, taking deep breaths, and she gets the impression that he is noticing her perfume, or the scent of her shampoo. Her lips are inches from his shoulder, and she can smell his aftershave. It smells good.

She knows his eyes are closed too. She can feel his lazy smile.

She can feel her own in response.

They sway, slowly, side to side, occasionally turning on the spot, tune after tune remaining slow and steady, and she can't remember where she got this CD, but it might have been a mix-tape she made for moments just like this one. They haven't even kissed- she's not even sure they're true friends- and yet this is the most intimate moment she's had since her children were small, and her husband was somewhat sober, and they weren't burdened with debt and resentments.

She doesn't know what they are, but in this moment it's glorious.

She could kick herself for yawning, but it gives them the perfect moment to part, because if they continue like this all night she knows she'll kiss him, and that's not only risky, it's foolish. She can't kiss him until she knows what this is; and she can't ask that question until she's sure they can handle the answer.

He pulls away, and she covers her mouth with the hand from his shoulder. Her other hand is still being held lightly in his, and though he looks for a moment like he wants to kiss her, his eyes darting to her lips and back, he brings her hand to his mouth and kisses her knuckles instead.

She turns bashful under the look he's giving her.

He lets her go.

"Well done tonight"

"Thank you for coming"

They're talking barely above a whisper, and though the moment lingers, he eventually pulls away and purposefully walks over to his shoes, sliding them on and flopping onto her couch to tie the laces.

She takes the moment to gather the dirty glasses left on the dinner table and collect her thoughts, and when she returns to the living room he's slipping into his jacket, rolling his tie and tucking it neatly into a spare pocket.

He makes his way to her door, recognising the need to leave while they have this reprieve in the mood. She wants to be polite and offer him a coffee before he leaves, but that's not the smart thing to do, so she doesn't. She's thankful that he seems to understand that and isn't lingering.

She holds the door open for him as he turns on the threshold to look at her once more.

"I had a good time tonight" he says.

"Me too" she mutters, her voice airy.

"The kid'll do great"

"He will, thanks to you. Thank you again for coming tonight"

"Any time"

His eyes soften, just enough to be noticed, and she smiles sheepishly.

"I'll see you tomorrow" he says. His voice still sounds softer than it should. She wonders if it will still be that way in the morning.

"That you will. I'll see you then"

He nods one last time, and then he's walking down the hall, hands in his pockets, head hung lazily towards his chest. He must know she's watching him, but he doesn't look back, and when he starts down the stairs, she shakes herself out of her reverie and closes the door, pressing her back into it as it shuts firmly behind her.

She shakes her head once, and then again, and finally pulls herself together enough to push herself off the door and into the kitchen. It's rather late. She turns out the lights, and turns off the CD player, tracking through the house, picking up her shoes and her discarded jacket. Quietly she makes her way to her bedroom, next to the bathroom she shares with Rusty. Through the ensuite door she can hear him brushing his teeth, and she hopes he didn't see them before crossing the hallway. He's just starting to truly settle in, and she doesn't want this to upset him. It's confusing enough to her as it is.

She adds Rusty to the mental list of reasons why Andy Flynn is entirely off-limits.

Her list doesn't seem to help her, though, when she's lying in bed pondering the scent of his aftershave, and the warmth of his hand, and the sway of his hips in time to the soft melody.

That night she dreams, of arms holding her from behind. Nothing more, merely holding her in her sleep, but it's enough to know where her dream comes from and why it surfaced now.

It's enough to know that she wants him, just a little bit.

She thinks he might just feel the same.

She's not quite sure why that thought makes her feel so lonely.

_A/N: This idea has been written before in various forms, but alas, this was the only way I could make this prompt feel in any way canon-related. Plus, once I got the mental image of Andy and Sharon slow dancing in her living room, I couldn't ignore it._

_Songs which inspired various parts of this story include (but are not limited to) Under The Bridges of Paris and Moon River by Randy Spendlove, The Book of Love by Peter Gabriel, and Slow Dancing In A Burning Room by John Mayer. _


	5. Nocturne

_Sharon Raydor/ Andy Flynn, pre-ship, one-shot, follows after Slow Dance in the Little Light Music series, can stand alone._

_I'm so sorry it's been so long. Uni has been madness. To make up for it you get a super long chapter._

_Written as a prompt-fic for __forsheiswhatiam__: 'Sharon/Andy - established relationship, comfort after a hard day'. Although the request was for established relationship, this prompt fit so well with where I wanted this series to go, and I mean, well, this is kind of an establish_ing_ relationship, and that counts, right? _

_If there are any inconsistencies in Andy's character, please let me know. I'm catching up on my Closer watching, but there are still a lot of gaps, and I recognise that I may make a huge error because of them. Anyway, as always I hope you enjoy._

_**Nocturne**_

When they get word of yet another murder, it's a Saturday, and it's two in the morning. He doesn't want to wake her, because he knows that Rusty has been having a hard time with tests this week, and she takes all that on board too. But she had insisted on being on the on-call roster with the rest of them, and she's never let strange hours stop her before, even in those early days when her greatest problems with Rusty were getting him to listen to her at all.

It's almost three by the time she makes it to the scene, impeccably dressed in her designer jeans, tee shirt and jacket, and he's surprised to see that the boy is not with her. Then again, he has grown up some, and proven enough times that he's not about to run away from the best thing that's happened to him, so leaving him at home with a note on the counter does sound like the better option.

"Captain" he greets. His tone is half cheery for seeing her, and half weary for the crime they're about to get tangled up in.

"Andy" she says in return. She gives him a brief smile, one that says she's glad to see him despite the circumstances, and then turns her attention to the white tent that's been set up around their victim.

The victim is young, and pretty, and could almost pass as Sharon's daughter for all the similarities between them, and it takes him a good two hours but he finally realises that that's probably the exact reason his Captain seems a little out of it as they go through the motions of investigating the scene. He catches her pondering the young woman's face at one point, her eyes misty. He doesn't begrudge her that. They all come across cases that affect them more than others; they're human, after all.

"Do you need a minute, Captain?" he asks her by her shoulder, his voice considerate and barely a whisper.

She only shakes her head. "No, thank you Lieutenant, I'm fine" she replies, not unkindly.

They do what they can at the scene and drive back to the station in their separate cars. The sun has just started to rise. He walks into the murder room a few minutes behind her, and sees her standing by the window, the only person in the room, her back to the door. Her arms are crossed, and the box of evidence she'd collected from the scene is on his desk near the whiteboard.

He comes to stand next to her, noting the way she's so engrossed in watching the sunrise.

"You okay?" he asks again, now that it's just the two of them; now that she's somewhere she might consider accepting his shoulder.

"I'm fine" she says thinly. She sighs to herself. "Or at least, I will be, once we put that son of a bitch behind bars"

He smiles at her, and recognises her need to regain control and get out of her own head. He rests his hand on her shoulder for just a moment, a show of solidarity, and then steps back out of her space. The moment feels to raw- too personal- to keep up their usual level of flirting, or whatever it is they do. He can't deny the attraction between them, but he doesn't yet know her well enough to be _that guy _for her, and he doesn't think she'd accept his help anyway. For all the warmth and love that Sharon Raydor is capable of, she's been independent long enough to know how to handle this on her own; to want to do it on her own. He can respect that.

"I'll start setting up our timeline" he mutters, and she nods.

But he hesitates a few steps from her, and seems to make up his mind as he turns back to her.

"You know, it's not an ungodly hour on the east coast, if you needed to make a phone call"

She spins quickly, her eyes wide with shock, and maybe a bit of awe. She's not sure how he came to know that her daughter is currently in New York, but he just stands there and looks at her with a soft expression on his face and a tender look in his eye, and she's immensely grateful. She smiles at him, and could almost burst into tears, but she only nods and holds his gaze.

"Thank you" she whispers.

He nods once, and then continues back to his desk to collect their evidence and start putting together the bare bones of their known timeline.

She makes her way to her office, closing the door softly behind her. As she pulls her phone out of her pocket, she takes one last look out her window. He's methodically going through their evidence, paying her no attention, and she smiles.

When he steals a glance through her window a couple of minutes later, she's leaning back in her chair, absently twirling a bit of hair, her eyes focused on nothing in particular as she responds to the person on the phone with a friendly guffaw and a light-hearted response. They obviously get along well. He can't hear what she's saying, but he does hear her laughter ring out from behind the glass.

He looks away, leaving her to her conversation.

Half of the team arrives early, despite it being Sunday, and they quickly get to work, establishing their victim's timeline, who would want to hurt her, family connections and possible motives. It becomes obvious, after they get her preliminary autopsy notes, that it was a crime of passion, and it was personal, and when a rape kit comes back indicating assault, it puts everyone on edge. Their suspects are quickly narrowed down to a cousin and an uncle. Nobody feels any better about that.

When they question the girl's mother for the second time it becomes apparent that the step-father is their likely candidate instead, and that a possible cycle of abuse had been going on behind closed doors, and that the mother had no idea. She mentions that her husband- recently separated and bitter for it- is a hopeless alcoholic, and as Andy is briefly looking away out of second-hand shame, he notices Sharon wincing, and he makes a mental note to ask her about that.

He's never pried into her marriage- to her face or otherwise- though he knows she's still got a husband and that they haven't been together in over twenty years. He thinks that perhaps her story could be frighteningly similar to his; the thought shakes him.

They all go home that night with heavy hearts, and are back on Monday morning with grim faces, the whole team brought up to speed and ready to go. Murder is never fun to investigate, but this case is starting to look like a revenge killing by a spiteful, vindictive, drunken step- father, and it's these family tragedies that always seem to hit the closest to home.

By the end of the day they've made an arrest, the step-father confessing everything. Andy barely stops himself from hurling the man through a window. Sharon turns on her heal and walks out of the electronics room before he can even begin negotiating a deal.

They meet each other in the hallway, and look almost simultaneously towards the second interview room, where their young victim's mother is waiting to hear the latest news of the case.

"I hate this part" she says lowly, her voice catching, her eyes betraying how deep her emotions run.

"I'll lead" he says.

She doesn't fight him, and that tells him all he needs to know.

When they tell the woman why her daughter was killed so brutally, she all but faints with grief, and it's Andy who catches her, and sets her down in the chair, and places a comforting hand on her shoulder, and lets her cry. Sharon sits down in a chair next to her, and holds her hand, her eyes kind, but he can tell that if she tries to do more, she'll crack too, and so he steals himself, harnesses his years as a homicide detective, and does the dirty work.

An aunt- an older woman with a strength in her spine that Andy recognises as hard life experience- comes to the station to collect the mother, both of them leaving in tears. And the team watch her go as uniformed officers escort their convicted killer through the murder room.

They form a sloppy procession line from the room to the elevators, but as he gets level to Sharon, his eyes blood-shot, his expression hard and unforgiving, he stops.

She stands her ground and meets his gaze with blind fury.

"You know what that bitch said to me?" he slurs in her face. "You know what she said? She said, you were never really part of our family, and I never loved you. That's what that spoilt brat said. I never loved you. I raised her, and that was the thanks I get-"

"Get him out of here" she says to the officers, her disgust written on her face.

"I raise that bitch, I feed her, I give her all the teenage bullshit she wants, and that's how that ungrateful little…"

His voice fades as he's lead out of the room, and Sharon's face quickly melts from revulsions to drained grief. She turns back to her people who are gathering in a tighter group by Provenza's desk.

"I'd like to thank you all for your great work on this case. I know- it wasn't easy… and… well... thank you for being so efficient, keeping your usual standard. Great work, everyone-"

Her voice is becoming thick with emotion, and she tries to blink away tears in that way she does.

Nobody moves closer to her, but they all convey their sympathy, and their support, and their own forms of grief. After a moment of swallowing it all down and nodding blindly to them, she turns on her heal with a faint 'excuse me' and walks away, walking briskly out the door, trying to look inconspicuous.

Any other time he'd let her go. Any other time he'd look at her retreating back with a mix of helplessness and regret. Any other time he'd accept her need to be alone, and to not show her weakness to the rest of them. He'd stay still, his mouth open, his eyes sad, and his hands in his pockets for lack of anything better to do. Any other time he'd ignore the looks Provenza gave him as he stood rooted to the spot, his emotions clear for all to see.

But not this time.

With a final look at the other people in the room, and with little consideration for what they will think of him, he takes two jogging steps in her direction and is out the door after her.

He finds her in the women's toilets at the sink, splashing water on her face and trying to hold back wracking sobs. She's only half succeeding.

"This is the women's" she says thickly, not looking at him, her focus on her white-knuckled grip on the counter.

"Are you okay" he asks seriously, softly, ignoring her half-hearted attempts to dismiss him. It's obvious she's anything but 'okay', but his tone suggests he's asking more than a simple question, and she shakes her head. It looks like she's merely trying to clear her thoughts, but he moves forward anyway, and comes to stand next to her, almost touching her shoulder. She's shaking, an errant tear escaping, her grip on the sink tight and her arms almost quivering under the strain of holding it all back.

He places his hand over hers, slipping his fingertips under her palm, and squeezes tightly. She lets go of the bench and holds his hand, and he can definitely feel her trembling.

"Breathe" he whispers. "Just breathe it out"

She takes a deep breath through her nose, releasing it out through her mouth with a shudder. She does it again. He nods along with her, subconsciously breathing along with her. His grip on her hand remains firm, grounding. She steadies herself, and then looks at her reflection in the mirror, and then meets his eyes.

"You okay?" he asks her again, whisper-soft.

She nods, her eyes still watery, but her emotions better controlled.

His hand is still gripping hers as she straightens to stand level with him, and it might cross a line or two, but his other hand comes up to cup her shoulder for a brief moment, and then he's pulling her into a hug. He wraps both arms around her shoulders, friendly and solid; a show of support that she needs more than she needs the pretence of propriety.

"Thank you, Andy" she mutters into his shoulder, her eyes clenching shut, her hands coming up under his arms to clutch at his shoulder blades. He rubs one hand lightly against her back.

They pull away, and she grins humourlessly, rubbing under her eyes to be sure her makeup hasn't run. He steps away, giving her the chance to collect herself.

"You good?" he asks.

"Yep. I'm good"

"Let me take you home, make you some dinner. You look like you could use a stiff drink tonight"

She scoffs out a laugh and half shakes her head. There's bitterness in her expression that he can't place, and he remembers that he wanted to approach her about something to do with this case, but can't remember what specifically.

"I don't know about a stiff drink, but a glass of wine wouldn't go astray"

"Well, how about we get out of the ladies' bathroom and head over to yours"

"You don't have to-"

"I know, but I'd like to, if that's okay"

She meets his eyes, and he looks sincere enough, and friendly enough, that she just nods her head, once, firmly, her mouth pressed in a pursed grin.

"Well, okay, if you'd like, then, thank you"

She smiles at him again, and he reaches for the door handle and leads her out. They walk into the murder room and see Tao and Sykes at their desks, heads down, finishing the last of the paperwork. They both notice her, but neither of them say a word, and she figures it's not hard to tell that this one's been difficult and leave it at that.

"Go home" she calls, as she approaches.

Both heads pop up to look at her properly.

"Finish this in the morning. It's after five. Go home" she says again kindly.

"I don't mind staying, Captain" says Sykes. For a nice change it doesn't sound like ass-kissing, and she's grateful for that.

"I'm almost done here" says Tao, nodding along to Amy's comment too.

"Well, it's up to you" she responds. "But don't stay too late"

"We won't Captain" says Tao with a smile. She returns it and continues to her office to collect her things. Andy waits for her at his desk, straightening out a few files and placing them in his second draw for the morning. Sykes and Tao are on call for the night, hence their willingness to stay, and Andy figures that any paperwork he does have left can wait until tomorrow, like Sharon said.

"You calling it a night, Lieutenant?" asks Sykes lightly.

"Sure am. I'm still beat after yesterday's early morning"

It sounds like a thin excuse, though it is partially true, but nobody questions it, and Sharon walks out of her office only a moment later, so he doesn't have to wait in any awkward silence.

They all call pleasant goodnights to one another, and then Sharon and Andy walk down the hall side by side, he gestures her into the elevator, and they make their way to their cars.

"I'll follow you" he says softly.

She only nods.

At her condo Rusty seems almost unsurprised to see someone following her inside, and she's not sure what to make of that. He greets her at the door, and doesn't flinch when she hugs him, which is not normal for them, but still nice. He seems to understand that she needs this, and so briefly hugs her back without comment.

Andy continues past them and into the kitchen, remembering his way enough to gather some ingredients for dinner as he listens to Sharon question Rusty about his day, an easy distraction.

They eat in easy silence, and Rusty excuses himself to do homework for the evening. They clean up the dishes side by side, and exchange small talk while Sharon gets him a soda from the fridge and pours herself a glass of wine as surreptitiously as she can. She's never felt very comfortable drinking in the presence of alcoholics, and Andy notices her tension, and remembers what it was he was hoping to discuss with her.

They make their way on to the patio, and the night is mild enough that he knows he can strike up a deeper conversation and she can't use the chill as an excuse to cut him short.

She sighs as she lowers herself into a chair, and he copies her, his eye keen on hers. She takes a long sip of wine, contemplating the sky and relaxing for the first time all night.

"Long day" he says quietly, breaking the silence.

"It was" she nods, her voice low in her throat. She frowns to herself, and takes another little sip, getting lost in her thoughts a little.

"Can I ask you something?" he says, looking down at his finger that's playing with the rim of his soda can.

"What is it?"

He meets her gaze, finding her to be amenable, and somewhat inquisitive. She must sense that he's quite serious, but she doesn't shy away.

"Why did this one get to you so much? I mean, even after you'd spoken to your girl?"

She flinches from the question, but her expression stays open, and though she looks away from him, he knows it's only to gather her thoughts. He thinks she probably needs to get it out there as much as he needs to hear it, and he's suddenly glad that they have become so close, because bottling it all inside is never healthy, and if he can help her in some small way, then he's done something good.

"You're right. Lisa Thomas did remind me of my daughter. And I did get a little too involved in that"

He waits as she steels herself for a confession.

"But that's not everything"

"No?"

She looks back at him, noticing his kind eyes, his open posture, the way he's giving her both space and encouragement to say what she needs to. She looks back up to the sky.

"No. My husband- Jack-"

"The one you've been separated from forever?"

She nods with a humourless smile and takes his encouragement.

"He was an alcoholic too"

Andy waits a moment, to show he's listening, and to allow the revelation to settle over him. It's not the shock it should be, and he now understands what his subconscious was trying to say; the signs he noticed but couldn't interpret.

"Violent?" he ask, his voice as gentle as a breeze, and tinted with subdued anger at the possibility.

"No. Not usually… but there was this one time… my daughter was three…"

She seems caught in her memory, trying to find the right way to describe the situation in a way that makes sense; in a way that explains why she's still married to the man.

"She was sick with a fever, and she woke in the night crying. My husband had come home drunk from the bar. He was on the couch, sleeping, and she started yelling. My son was only a few months old, and he woke up, and so he was crying too…"

Andy can imagine the scene; middle of the night, two babies bawling and inconsolable. He can almost picture what's coming next before she says it, imagining what he would have done if he'd woken up on the couch half hung-over to that noise. He closes his eyes against the final blow.

"I managed to calm the baby, and I was just putting him down, and I walked to my daughter's room…"

She swallows down a lump in her throat.

"… and there's Jack, holding her up in front of him, his hands under her arms… and he's _screaming_ at her to be quiet, be quiet, we're trying to sleep…"

She shakes her head, her face showing her emotions as she relives the scene in her mind, her voice thick.

"… and then he shook her"

Andy's eyes flare with anger. He can claim a lot of guilt for his actions, but he can honestly say he's never harmed his kids while drunk. The very thought sickens him to his core.

"He shook her once. And God, that moment… I ran in, and I grabbed her, and she's still crying her little eyes out, and he just stood there with this stunned look on his face. He knew what he'd done. He knew. He sobered up that damn fast. So I told him to leave, and not come back until I could trust him not to kill his children"

She takes a deep shuddering breath, wiping the few tiny tears that have escaped. She's still not looking at him, but he understands that.

"The next morning I dropped most of his things off at his mother's and told him he wasn't seeing the children again until he was sober"

Andy smiles, an empty smile full of all the possibilities that his own disease could have brought, and he counts back all of the days he's been sober and thanks his stars.

"And your daughter?" he asks gently.

"She was fine, thank God. He didn't shake her hard enough to do anything. She doesn't even remember it…"

She pauses, biting her lower lips, her brow furrowed.

"But- Andy, what if he had? What if he had shaken her more than once? What if I hadn't grabbed her in time?"

He is quick to shush her, moving his chair closer so that their knees are touching, and he grabs her glass of wine and places it on the table, while the other hand pulls her into another hug. She goes willingly, and quiet sobs wrack her body as all of the emotions of the last few days catch up to her. He can understand now. He can recognise what had been the final straw. He can see that weeks of rehab could have turned into months of building their own separate lives; that the intention of coming back together as a family had been replaced by the changes they'd made in the interim. He can imagine that years of living harmoniously, apart, had built a stronger relationship than living together and fractured. Suddenly twenty years had gone by, and their children were grown, and they'd never gotten around to that divorce, and it kind of suited them not to, what with Catholicism being a neat, handy excuse.

He rubs her back, and rocks her gently, and she clutches lightly at his shirt, and he buries his nose in her hair and just holds her. After a short time she sniffles, pulling herself together, and leans back from him, his hands still on her arms, one of her hands still on his chest.

"I must look a wreck" she says, huffing at herself, wiping under her eyes.

"A very pretty wreck" he assures.

She lets out a weak laugh at him, thankful he's at least trying to flatter her. She won't meet his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to air all my dirty laundry"

He nudges her chin up with one knuckle, making her look at him, and he holds her steady for a single heartbeat.

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know" he says gently, honestly.

"Thank you" she whispers.

He smiles, a quick quirk of his lips, and then pulls her toward him with the knuckle of his index finger under her chin and his thumb lightly grasping it, and places a light kiss on her forehead.

She looks completely bewildered, and he knows he just punched a good handful of rules in the face, but it had felt right, and so he'd done it. She smiles at him again, and he thinks she might have even blushed a bit, but he can't be sure, and anyway, that's not why he came tonight.

He reaches back, picks up her wine glass and hands it to her, and then cocks his head towards the door. She nods and they head back inside. She gets the sense that he's bringing the night to a close, and so she tosses back the last mouthful of wine, and isn't surprised when he quietly throws the half-empty soda can in the bin.

She places the glass in the sink, the dishwasher already full, and is turning around when she feels him come up behind her, only a foot away.

She turns and looks at him, bashful under his tender gaze. She's still not comfortable with this side of him, though she can't deny that she likes it very much. She can't speak for his behaviour away from the office, but he only seems this subdued when they're alone, and it's late, or he's at her home, and she'd like to say it has nothing to do with her company, but she thinks that might be wrong. She knows why she behaves the way she does, and it has nothing to do with the location.

"I should probably head off. My boss has me in at the office early in the morning"

She grins at him, the first truly light smile of the night.

"Well, wouldn't want to upset the boss"

He grins right back. She thinks he likes her sense of humour, when she dares to show it.

"Thank you for coming tonight. And for listening. You didn't have to, and, well, it really helped to have a shoulder to cry on"

"Hey, we all get cases that hit us. I'm just glad this one was wrapped in a neat little bow. Not all of them are"

She nods thoughtfully, wrapping her arms loosely around herself. "No. I guess I'm still adjusting to the constant death and dismemberment part of this position"

"You'll be fine" he assures, and she gets the impression he's talking about more than just the job.

"Thank you, Andy. Really"

"You're welcome"

They look at each other for a long, solid moment, neither moving closer nor stepping away. The spark- and yes she can recognise there's a spark there somewhere- seems more intimate than it has been before; more innocent somehow, like it's less about kissing him senseless and more about letting him wrap her in his arms and hold her all night.

He blinks and looks away, and the moment is broken, and once again she finds herself glad that he can find the strength to do that, because she's so emotionally drained that if he'd suggested spending the night in her bed, she's not sure she would have had the strength to say no.

He turns and heads for the door, and she follows. She sees him out, neither of them lingering, and when she closes the door behind him she lets herself fall back against it and take a moment to breathe. It was easier to deal with her attraction to Andy Flynn when it was simple flirting; when he didn't hold all of her secrets. She has a fleeting thought that she really needs to get even with the personal information, but then grins at herself, because she's seen his FID file; she knows plenty.

Rusty pads down the hall, dressed in his pyjamas and carrying an empty water glass. He seems cautious, but not suspicious. She likes that he trusts her that way. She steps away from the door and meets him in the entrance area.

"Flynn gone?"

"He has. You can just leave that in the sink"

"I was going to grab another glass to put by my bed"

"Okay" she says, smiling. She steps up to him and hugs him briefly. "I'm going to bed"

"Okay"

She pulls back, pushing some hair out of his eyes, which makes him grin and shake his head, the hair falling right back into place. She only smiles at him. None of this is really new to her.

"Goodnight Rusty" she says, stepping towards her room.

"Goodnight"

"Not too late" she adds, pointing her finger.

"I won't"

She smiles, and nods her head once, and then she's in her room, closing the door softly behind her, trusting that he'll get himself off to bed okay. The talk with Andy had been cathartic in a way she wasn't expecting, and the motions of her nightly routine relax her. By the time she's slipping under the covers, the most she has to say about the few days she's had is that she'd partaken in a long-overdue phone call with her daughter. She makes a mental note to thank Andy for that too in the morning, and quickly allows herself to drift into a dreamless sleep, the scent of his aftershave lingering on her skin, and the memory of his arms around her comfort enough.

She's coming to accept the changes in their relationship, though she knows she shouldn't. She just can't bring herself to care about that.


	6. Entr'acte

_A short little fluffy interlude for the prompt from __mhopeg__: 'Sharon/Andy: A/C is out at LAPD HQ. Andy finds himself... distracted.'_

_Well, with a prompt like that, who can refuse? Pointless, unabashed pervy!Andy and slydog!Sharon. Just you try and stop me._

_One-shot, pre-ship, follows Nocturne in the Little Light Music series, but can stand alone._

_**Entr'acte**_

He continues to fan himself with his piece of paper as he loosens his tie and undoes the buttons on his vest, his sleeves already rolled to the elbow. It's not the middle of summer, but it is LA, and though the weather has been mild as they move into cooler months, maintenance decided to upgrade their air conditioning units just before a warm front moved through their little part of town. Now three days of solid humid heat later, and the building is finally starting to feel the effects. They'd tried their best with closing the blinds a bit and bringing in spare desk fans, but it was only a matter of time. They've been told that the units should be running smoothly again by the end of the week, but it can't come soon enough.

Andy curses his impeccable dress sense as he finally concedes defeat and loses the vest altogether.

"Any news from Tao and Sanchez?"

He spins around at the sound of her voice and practically chokes on his own tongue.

Gone is her light suit jacket and he can finally appreciate the full effects of the top she'd decided to wear that day. White and almost see-through, the silk clings to her skin as she walks from her office, swaying to the movement of her body and the breeze of the free-standing fan that she deliberately walks by. The front is styled around the long row of buttons, black detailing matching the black trim of the cuffs and collar, only serving to enhance the stark whiteness of the silk. But it's the subtle outline underneath that intrigues him.

Lace bra.

And not much else.

Her normally immaculate hair is uncharacteristically pinned back in a simple up-do with a large tooth clip, small tendrils breaking free around her face, leaving her neck bare and the outline of whatever is under her top unobstructed.

He blinks once, and then abruptly turns back to his computer screen.

"Ahhh, not yet. But I'll let you know"

He desperately hopes his voice doesn't give him away.

She only nods, seemingly unaware of his blatant and not-too-subtle ogling, or perhaps just not caring.

Their Captain apparently planned for the hot weather.

She moves towards their whiteboard casually, intrigued enough by their mounting evidence that he honestly thinks she has no idea just how tantalising she looks. She picks up one of the crime scene photos and replaces it, then looks back to the timeline again, her brow slightly furrowed, humming just slightly under her breath.

Her skirt is jet black and sits just above her knee; modest but certainly not her longest cut, fully showcasing her amazing legs, and leading down to a classy pair of Manolo's that leave little doubt that she's got money.

Standing in front of the board, her back to him, she crosses her arms lightly and puts her weight on one foot, stretching the other out slightly to the side. The balance juts her hip out just-so, and her crossed arms pull the shirt just tight enough that he can make out the back straps of her bra, and nothing else.

He swallows, looks back to his computer, looks down to the report on his desk, before his gaze is once again drawn to the back of her head.

He's not so self-deluded that he doesn't acknowledge how attractive he finds her. The last few months have seen them get closer as colleagues, to become what he would call friends. He likes to think that there's a hint of something more, and he thinks she might agree, though of course he'd never actually ask. Stepping in as her right-hand-man has felt as natural as breathing air. Becoming her confidant has been a gradual process that they've both seemed to enjoy.

He looks her up and down once more while her back is still turned and decides that, yes, if and when the time comes that they're ready to be closer still, well that would be just fine with him.

He quickly looks back at his computer just as she's turning, and he pretends to ignore her as she makes her way back into her office while muttering about making a phone call.

He breathes an internal sigh of relief when she's finally gone, and pulls his tie over his head, admitting defeat with that one too.

And he's too busy trying to look inconspicuous to notice her sly smirk, and the appreciative quirk of her eyebrow, as she eyes him from her office door, before she closes it softly behind her with a grin and a shake of her head.


	7. Con Fuoco

_Written on my phone (again), because I was inspired while sitting on the train. For someone who was gearing down with this story as I approach exams, I'm doing a terrible job of it. _

_For Cami (akachankami) prompt:_ _sharon/andy 'your own worst enemy'. In keeping this somewhat canon related, we get some tension at work and a lovers quarrel. _

_Con fuoco: to be performed in a fiery manner (to play 'with fire'_).

**Con Fuoco**

They're standing toe-to-toe in front of the whiteboard, both with their arms crossed while the others sit around watching the storm slowly unfold. They've been disagreeing on this case since the call came in, almost being deliberately antagonistic. They're both too proud- and just a bit too honest with one another- to back down from the fight; Sharon holds her ground on principle of being in charge, Andy out of obstinacy with regard to his opinions. They've been snarking and ignoring each other in equal measure, and their very natures have fuelled it, as well as the close bond they've formed. Had they just been colleagues- even antagonistic ones- Andy would have gone into silent fury and Sharon into heavy-handed self-righteousness.

But they're not impartial anymore and somehow, despite the disagreements only ever being about the job, that hurts more; stings when it shouldn't. She realises that this is the first time he's so blatantly _not_ been on her side, and that sits uncomfortably under her skin and puts her further on edge.

This current argument has been brewing for hours, and the rest of the team get front row seats; they're not sure if they're glad for the spectacle or scared about being caught in the cross-fire.

Nobody's quite sure if it'll end with her slapping him, firing him, or kissing him. If it wasn't such a high profile murder- if the stakes weren't raised by escalating gang violence and a brutal murder- Provenza would probably take bets.

"I say we bring him in" says Flynn, looking all kinds of subdued angry. "He's dangerous, we know he's armed, he's got gang connections and he's just waiting to pick a fight"

"You don't know that" she says, her arms crossed, shaking her head.

"I know that if we don't get him into custody we'll have another dead body on our hands" he says with a not-so-subtle eyeroll, his tone suggesting he thinks she's an idiot.

"Watching Luka's movements may lead us to some far more important figures in his gang- figures who may be his accomplices" she replies, ignoring him, her voice smooth despite her frustration.

She looks at Sanchez, who is nodding just slightly, letting her know that her idea has merit. With Andy playing antagonist, she's struggling to find an ally to her cause. She's glad she's not shouting at nothing- that someone is hearing what she's saying.

"I don't see why we can't just pick the kid up-" continues Andy, getting more frustrated by the minute.

"Because we don't have enough evidence to _prove_ he was involved and-"

"We _know_ he did it- it's all there" he says incredulously, voice rising, gesturing with both hands towards the board, looking at her with wide eyes.

"Circumstantial at best" she counters, equally passionate, shaking her head at him. "Without a warrant to search his house or probable cause to arrest him for the murder, picking up Luka leaves this department wide open-"

"That is complete bullshit and you know it" he shouts at her.

"Be that as it may" she starts, her voice going deliberately low, her eyes conveying a warning, her gestures becoming increasingly jittery as she struggles to hold back her anger. "This _bullshit_ is the law, and I will not risk this department with another law suit because you couldn't be bothered following a few simple instructions"

They've rarely seen her so flustered- only the Chief had ever incited this kind of blind rage, where her every emotion comes to the surface, and she practically jumps on the spot like a tantrum-induced child. It could almost be comical, if they weren't witnessing a partnership potentially fall to pieces.

Shouting, he replies with pure sarcasm. "Well excuse me for caring more about justice than protecting your damn precious rule book"

"Enough" she barks, her eyes are wide and furious, her lips pursed. "You're off this stake out"

Everyone looks shocked by her decision, nobody more than Andy. Having him off the team messes up their entire operational strategy and will require a complete reshuffle of their plan.

"Wha-?" he squeaks, not quite believing that she's serious.

For a moment the fight leaves him, his wide eyes not quite believing he found her breaking point; betraying that he never meant to take it that far.

"You heard me. Go home. Clear your head"

He is jolted out of his shock, and his anger returns with a vengeance. It's been quite some time since she took front row to one of his FID-worthy incidents, and he's almost making up for it on this case.

"That's crap" he spits.

"Out, Lieutenant" she barks again, pointing towards the door. "Now"

They stare at each other for a long, cold minute, neither one moving or blinking. Finally Andy admits he'll never win, and huffs.

"Bullshit" he mutters, sneering at her, picking up his jacket with too much aggression, slamming his keys into his hand, and stalking down the hallway towards the elevators. They hear a distant thud, like a fist hitting a wall (though thankfully not going through it), and it makes Sharon flinch, her eyes closed, before the elevator dings and a silence descends.

Half the team looks sad, the other confused, and Provenza looks about ready to jump into a ring and box it out.

She turns her hard eyes back toward the rest of them, eying each and every one with a scowl.

"Anyone else?"

They all look down, Tao slightly shaking his head, Provenza losing his fight.

There is no denying her logic- their evidence against Luka is weak, and they have no solid proof that he was directly involved in the murder- but they are all painfully aware that he has the means and opportunity to kill again. Andy wants to stop it, Sharon wants to play the long game; it's a tough call, and almost impossible to decide who is right.

But in the end it's her call, and they accepted that part of the job too long ago to start questioning it now.

Later that night the team escort young Luka kicking and screaming through the murder room and into an interview room. It had been a close call- Luka had gotten as close to his intended victim as Andy had predicted he would, and just a bit closer, due in part to the changes they had made to their plan in Andy's absence. However, they were thankfully able to intercept his killing spree, and could now arrest him on attempted murder, giving them enough time to build their case against him for the first murder.

Sharon grudgingly admits to herself that Andy had a point when he suggested they just pick him up; the night could have easily turned out differently, and not for the better.

"Lucky we got there in time, huh?" says Provenza in the hallway, knowingly but not cruelly reminding her of the very conversation she is replaying in her head.

"Yes. Lucky"

He only nods at her, an almost unreadable smirk on his face, her tone only slightly remorseful. They are two old horses who know this game very well; they don't need to say much else.

They all make their way home that night, content to let Luka sit in holding while they recharge their batteries and come back to it in the morning with fresh eyes.

Sharon commends their work, and they all head out, and it's only when she finds herself lingering by a certain person's desk that she sighs and shakes her head.

It all worked out. That's the main thing.

At home Rusty notices her silence, and though he makes a half-hearted attempt to pull her out of it, he is perceptive enough to leave her be, curled on the couch reading a novel like she doesn't have a million thoughts running through her head.

She wants to feel sorry. She doesn't. She wants to drive over to his house and apologise, and ask for his friendship back, and convince him that she's right, and tell him that she hears him, but damn it just be wrong this one time. She wants to sit him down and nut it out, and tell him that the stakeout would have been a lot less messy if he had been there. She wants him to see that she did the smart thing; the long play worked this time, and it was thanks to her holding her ground.

She's sorry they fought; she's not sorry about her decision. It's a very confusing emotion.

She wants him to be less stubborn. Except that's not right either, because when his hot-headed indignation is in her court it's one of her favourite weapons to use. It's part of who he is.

She goes to bed feeling somewhat lonely again, this time not because she has his friendship but because she fears she doesn't.

It's an unsettling feeling.  
She determinedly brushes it aside and falls into dreamless sleep.

The next morning they question Luka again, and it seems that a night in a cell and years of prison ahead of him were incentive enough to offer them more information. It's not much, but it still helps. Sykes and Sanchez head out to follow leads, Buzz and Tao are still reviewing video footage, and Provenza is making a dozen phone calls when Vice sends over a stack of related files. Sharon takes them to her office and starts the gruelling process of sifting through the information, looking for connections among the innumerable related killings and paybacks.

God, she hates gangs.

Messy, convoluted work.

There's a light rap on her door and she utters a 'come in' as she's placing another dead-end file in the 'no' pile. She knows exactly who it is. He skulks into her office, looking every bit the chastised school boy, and she has to fight showing a smirk. If he thinks he's the first officer to get up in her face, he has a very short memory.

Still, it's nice to know he genuinely feels regretful.

"What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

"I- ah... I came to apologise, Captain. I was out of line, and, well I'm sorry"

She quirks an eyebrow, her smirk just shining through. He still won't meet her eye.

"Take a seat" she clips, gesturing to the chair in front of her desk. He lowers himself slowly, obviously wondering if she's about to throw the whole damn rule book at him, his latest stunt the final straw.

"I accept your apology"

He nods in relief and leans back.

"Now, can you accept mine?"

He looks up at her with a frown, completely baffled, and actually visibly shakes his head. "Captain?"

"You were not wrong, Andy. You might try for better communication skills, but you had a very good point, and I should have listened to your judgement sooner- maybe compromised. I'm sorry that I didn't"

"Hey" he shrugs, grinning a little bit. "It's your prerogative- you're the boss"

"Yes I am. And you might remember that once in a while. But a boss is only as good as the people they command, and by dismissing your opinion I diminished the effectiveness of this team, almost leading to the death of another young man. I'm not an island, and I can be wrong. And this time I was wrong"

"Can I get that in writing?"

"Don't push me"

He holds up his hand in surrender. They look at each other for a moment, her smirk finally shining through, letting him know that she finds him more amusing than offensive; that the rapport and respect they've been building is foundation enough to see them past this. His eyes are bright, and he has a cheeky grin on his face, and she can't deny that she finds him absolutely adorable. Their own obstinate natures will no doubt cause friction in the future, but to find themselves on the other side of this storm- to know that everything will be okay, if a little bit shaken- a relief that neither one of them expected, but that they both welcome.

"Does this mean that all I had to do to get out of insubordination charges in the past was to apologise?"

She barks out a laugh, possibly surprising him, though he looks delighted when she keeps grinning.

"If only. Would have made my life a lot easier if you had"

"Don't know what you mean" he says with a sly look.

"Then you forget that I was your FID file manager for almost three years. I've seen your jacket- hell, I didn't have to do gym weights while I was handling your jacket"

"You go to the gym?"

Part of him actually really wants an answer to that question. She picks up her pen and opens a file on her desk.

"Get out before I change my mind"

Her eyes look dark, but the tiny grin on her face betrays her amusement, and he gives a nonchalant shrug as he slips a hand in his pocket and waltzes out of her office. The smartarse insubordinate is not just a role he's good at- it's who he is and how he functions. It's comforting to know that she acknowledges that.

As the door closes she snorts again, shaking her head.

She probably shouldn't let him get away with his blatant disregard for her authority, but she thinks he's learned his lesson, and she gets the impression that he respects her enough to toe the line in the future. Or at least try to. That and, well, it's Andy Flynn. It was only a matter of time.

They meet up again by the coffee machine, much later in the day, their case only a few hours of legwork from being solved. He's making himself a cup, and when he notices her walking into the break room he wordlessly grabs her mug from the cupboard and puts a teabag in it. He still looks a bit like a chastised child, cautious in how close he stands to her.

"Thank you" she says, a little bit surprised, but not really.

He just nods at her.

They prepare their drinks side by side, silent, but not needing to speak. There's still a lingering tension over their argument last night, but their conversation in her office has stopped it feeling hostile.

He pulls a container of sweets and slices from the fridge while she's pouring hot water into her mug and he holds it out to her in offering, picking one for himself. She gives him a questioning look.

"Made 'em myself"

"You made them?" she asks incredulously, raising one eyebrow.

"Bought them"

"Uh-huh"

She smirks at him, and picks out half of a vanilla slice, muttering something about a diet under her breath.

"You don't need to worry about that" he mutters back, putting the container back in the fridge, and she rolls her eyes as she takes a bite. She collects her mug and walks to the door.

"Thanks for the slice" she calls over her shoulder.

She's gone before he can turn around and acknowledge her, the click of her heals echoing down the hall. He's not sure if that was innuendo, but hot damn if it didn't sound like it. And if his one-track mind starts equating dessert and tea with make-up sex, well, there's no rule against that.

He checked.


	8. Dissonance

_Written for the prompt from mandariins: "Sharon/Andy - late night shopping". I don't claim to be a medical expert, and all advice given in this chapter is anecdotal evidence drawn from personal experience. _

_Warning for a teensy little swear word._

_As always I hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think. _

**Dissonance**

She hears the knock at the door and practically launches herself off the couch to answer it. Throwing the door open, she sags with relief when she sees who it is. He's standing there looking thoroughly amused over hearing her run through the apartment, holding a plastic bag high near his face with a grin.

"Delivery" he sing-songs, swaying the bag a little.

"You're amazing" she replies, deadpan, ushering him inside.

"I know" he fires back with innuendo, smirking, handing her the bag.

She ignores him completely, fishing out the pack of cigarettes and throwing them on the table with a confused frown, before reaching in and grabbing the Gatorade. She sets the bag on the table and disappears down the hall, knocking lightly on Rusty's bedroom door before entering. He hears her speaking softly to him, and decides to follow her to find out why she had called him on his way home and begged for him to make a midnight run to the store.

"How's the head now?"

"I still feel shaky, but the headaches gone"

"That's good. Here, drink this. The electrolytes will help, trust me"

Andy stops at the doorway to see Sharon perched on the edge of Rusty's bed, the boy fluffed up on his pillows, a damp washcloth over his head. His skin looks ashy and even from the door Andy can see he's clammy and has a bit of the shakes.

When Sharon had called him to say she might not be in first thing the next morning, her voice calm and panicky at the same time, his heart had leapt high in his chest. Quick to reassure him, she explained that Rusty had experienced a fainting spell, probably brought on by an intense school exam period; too little sleep, too little food, and too much energy drink to compensate. He'd immediately offered to come over on his way home from a late shift, which she only accepted because she asked him to run to the store first.

He watches as she gently re-folds the washcloth, pours the last of the cold water out of the glass on the bedside table, and puts the cloth back on the boy's head. She puts the empty glass down and encourages Rusty to drink some more of the Gatorade. For all her frantic panic out in the hall she is calm and sure; cool in a crisis.

"Hey Flynn" calls the boy, noticing him lingering in the doorway. He doesn't seem surprised to see that their midnight rescuer is him.

"Heya kid. How're feeling?"

"Like an idiot"

"You're not an idiot, Rusty, you've just worked yourself a little too hard" she says. She feels his cheek with the back of her hand and checks his pulse at his wrist. She seems fairly practiced, or at least confident on how to handle the situation.

"I fainted, Sharon" he complains.

"Oh stop being so dramatic, you didn't even lose consciousness" she chastises, picking up one of the dry crackers from the plate on the bedside table and thrusting it into his hand.

"Sharon, I'm not really-"

"If you don't put something back in your stomach you'll feel even worse in the morning. These won't make you feel sick"

The boy knows a losing argument when he hears one, and dutifully chomps down. Picking up the empty water glass from the bedside table, she places the Gatorade bottle there instead.

"You okay?" she asks Rusty.

He nods weakly, and she runs her palm down the side of his face, giving him a half smile, encouraging him to lie further back into his pillows.

"I'll be right outside- if you start feeling sick again, you call out"

"I will"

She eyeballs him playfully.

"I will" he calls again.

She nods at him with a smile.

It's become somewhat of a ritual between them, the repetition. Rusty isn't used to being genuinely cared for, though there were rare times in his childhood when his mother did genuinely show that she loved him. With Sharon, he is forced by her sheer stubbornness into the role of the child, and she makes sure to remind him at every opportunity that she doesn't look after him for kicks; she honestly loves him like a son. She does it because of that love; because that's what mothers do, or should do, or should want to do.

She caresses his cheek again and then stands, glass in hand, and walks out the door, Andy stepping out of her way.

They make their way to the kitchen again and Sharon picks up the discarded grocery bag, fishing out two blocks of chocolate and picking up the cigarette packet in the other hand, raising her eyebrow at him.

"Wasn't sure of your de-stress poison" he says with a smile and a shrug.

She only gives a tiny grin to him, and puts one block in the fridge, before surprising him completely and carrying the other and the pack of smokes out to the patio. She practically swaggers past him, quirking her eyebrow and gesturing just barely for him to follow. For a moment he stands in open-mouthed shock, a grin slowly forming.

"You're kidding" he says with a guffaw, not quite believing what he's seeing.

He has noticed, over the course of the few times he's been to her place, the scented candles and the organic meat, and even the half-hearted attempts to grow her own herbs on the patio. She's mentioned gym, and he pictures yoga, and maybe a bit of swimming, and a jog here and there if she's up to it. He imagines she uses eco-friendly fabric softener, forest-friendly pillowcases, and buys the farmer-owned milk, all because she's both health conscious and can afford to be picky about it.

So to see her slide one of the doors open, step just outside, open the pack, pull out a cigarette and light it with practiced ease, blowing the first plume of smoke away from the open doorway… it nearly knocks him clear on his arse.

He just stands and stares at her for a moment, before slowly making his way over to join her, and he watches fascinated as she manages to hold the cigarette between two fingers, while using all her other digits to open the chocolate and break herself a piece. She offers him the chocolate with a smirk, and when he declines she holds out the pack of smokes instead. He declines that too. He was never much of a smoker, and an addict becomes wary of all those things once they're on the right path. Best to quit everything and keep it that way.

"No way" he says, watching her take another puff.

She coughs once, eyeing the cigarette with mild suspicion, and then takes another drag, this time ghost inhaling and letting it escape to lessen the effects on her lungs. She's obviously out of practice, but it looks natural enough that he imagines it's been an on-and-off thing for many years.

"I was young once, and it was the seventies" she replies with a shrug.

He only nods. Everybody smoked then, particularly the men, and especially in the police force.

"Never regular, mind you" she adds, almost as an afterthought. "Only socially, or if my children were giving me a special brand of hell"

"Let me guess" he starts, waltzing fully out onto the patio. She steps one more pace outside the door, absently closing it almost completely behind her, conscious of the smoke permeating her perfectly scented home.

"End of a long day- jacket comes off-" He flicks his hand out and flops into one of her deck chairs.

"Glass of wine from the fridge-" He gestures towards her fridge, not quite visible in her kitchen from their angle.

"A single smoke to calm the nerves" He mimes lighting a cigarette and blowing out the smoke in an exaggerated fashion.

She giggles at him, a bona fide, honest to god giggle, and his derisive smirk turns into a grin.

"You forgot the trashy chick lit novel and the fluffy slippers, but yes, that's about right"

"Sharon Raydor, rulebook junkie and health-nut, a closet smoker. What would people say if it got out"

"I'm sure it would be the real little scandal. Shall I call the presses?"

She takes another drag.

"You're only smoking that to make a point to me" he says with an accusatory finger pointed at her, calling her out completely. "You haven't smoked in years"

"True" she concedes, eyeballing him. "But it was worth it just to see your face"

He barks a laugh at her and shakes his head.

"And besides, I didn't have my spare pack hidden in my cupboard. I threw my last one out when I got this place and haven't bothered to replace it"

"I'm surprised you didn't buy a whole box when the kid moved in"

She gives a humourless laugh, and then concedes defeat and stubs out the cigarette in an ashtray that's hiding behind a potted plant. He almost asks why she still has it until he sees the finger-painting around the rough edges. She lowers herself into the other chair.

"Trust me, I was tempted. But, I'd given up for years at that point, and I was determined to give Rusty a completely new environment. I'd indulge in a glass of wine here and there, but I decided to forgo the cigarettes"

"Well done"

He could almost be mocking her, except she hears his sincerity, and she nods her thanks and leans her head back. He has come to recognise it as her 'cleansing' pose; her way of ridding herself of the day and finding her inner balance.

He imagines she's done meditation, and then almost laughs at himself.

"So what happened with the kid?" he asks, his voice tinged with concern. Kids overwork themselves all the time at high school, but he doesn't remember there being many fainting spells.

"Just a faint. I've had them a couple of times, my daughter had one when she was stressed in high school. I don't think he's been eating much during the day, and I've noticed he sometimes skips breakfast if he's running late. And I know he doesn't drink enough water. Little things, building up. I'll keep an eye on it, make sure it's only a one-off event"

"Good idea"

She opens her eyes and gives him a questioning look, not hostile, but perhaps concerned, like Andy's noticed something she hasn't.

"I don't mean to sound tough, but a kid with his background; the life changes he's going through, the pressure he puts himself under. It's the right combination for either addiction or an eating disorder"

"Mmm-hmm, which is exactly why I'm going to be shovelling food and water down his throat come morning. I won't tell the school, but if it happens again I'll be taking more drastic measures"

Andy nods, accepting her judgement on the situation. He knows addiction very well, and Rusty doesn't strike him as the kind of kid to go down that path and undo all the good he's worked so hard for. But an eating disorder could creep up on him and develop without anyone noticing.

Still, he thinks, Sharon is the parent far more than he is, and he leaves it in her capable hands. She's proven herself nothing short of saintly with the boy, helping him be the best he can possibly be while remaining supportive and respectful to his mother and his past; it's been miraculous to consider it all in retrospect.

It vaguely registers, as they let the sounds of the night settle over them, that their conversation sounds like two concerned parents negotiating their son. That neither of them feels put out by that is very telling. In many ways, they are the two who have stepped up as pseudo-parents, with Buzz the annoyed older brother, and the rest of the squad the protective uncles and aunt. The debacle with Daniel Dunn only reinforced how much they've all come to care for the boy, and so no, it doesn't feel strange to see himself step up into that father role. There have been better fathers, for sure, but as Daniel proved there are also worse. At least Rusty could learn from Andy's experiences.

He sees her raise her hand to stifle a yawn, her eyes clenched shut, and he remembers that it was just after eleven thirty when she'd called him earlier that night. He doesn't bother looking at the time to know that it's very late.

"I should go, let you get some sleep"

She almost looks disappointed. In fact, he's sure of it.

She stands and he follows, and she picks up the cigarettes and the chocolate to carry back inside.

"Thank you for bringing that over Andy, it was very generous of you"

"Hey, it was nothing"

"Still, I truly appreciate it"

She places the chocolate in the fridge and stashes the smokes on the top shelf of a corner cupboard, right at the back, only to be remembered in dire emergencies.

"Well, if I hadn't, I wouldn't have learned your dirty little secret, would I? So really, I was doing myself a favour"

She only smirks at him as she tucks her hands in the pockets of her house jacket before walking towards the hall. "I'm just going to check on Rusty, make sure he hasn't choked on a cracker"

She pads down the hall and he lazily follows to the entranceway, watching her sneak the door open, have a look, and then close it again, seemingly satisfied with what she sees.

"I hope the kid gets better. Text me tomorrow morning to let me know how he is" he says as she approaches again, wrapping the loose edges of her jacket tightly around herself.

"I'm sure he'll be fine" she says, unconcerned. "But I will let you know before I come in if he's okay to go to school"

He opens the door for himself and she grabs it to hold it as he steps into the hall and turns back to face her.

"Thanks again" she says softly.

"You're welcome" he replies. He stands and looks at her for a brief second with a silly smile on his face, and tries to ignore the voice that tells him just how comfortable he's becoming in her space; in her home; as a family with her foster son. "Sleep well" he says softly.

He turns on his heal and walks down the corridor before she can reply, which is a good thing, because the tenderness in his voice shocked her into a moment of silence.

He hears her faint 'goodnight' from down the hall, but at the risk of wanting the night to linger and end with him sleeping on her couch like a lost puppy, he pretends he doesn't hear, and is relieved when he hears the click of her safety latch just as he's reaching the staircase.

He lets out a breath and shakes his head as he jogs down the stairs, silently admonishing himself.

He's getting too close. He's getting too comfortable, not just with her as a friend, but with everything. He's starting to see her home as an extension of his own life. He feels welcome enough to meander down her hallway and watch her tend to a sick child; a child that is neither of theirs, and yet feels like he belongs right beside them.

He feels a certain peace being able to sit in her quiet company and let silence descend, words superfluous to the contentment growing between them.

If it was just attraction, or pure lust, he thinks that would be safer- it would be familiar ground to want to sleep with her to dispel the tension and then move on; to merely see her as a pair of legs, a nice arse and a sexy rack.

But to want to linger. To want to spend time with her simply for the pleasure of her company. To want to come over and cook dinner and hear all about Rusty's day at school and help the boy with homework and stack the dishwasher and sit outside talking about everything and nothing. To hold her as she cries and yell at her knowing full well they'll make up the next day. That feeling has settled deep inside him, and he's not sure when it began, but he think it's might have been sometime around the weeks he started bringing her tea on the regular, and spending late nights pondering cases in her office. It's a feeling that now has weight, every incident since then adding a little more to it. It has settled in his bones and become his DNA.

It feels wonderful.

It feels dangerous.

It feels like this could turn into a hot fucking mess.


	9. Lament

_Alright, alright, I've tortured you all long enough. And now, for some resolution. Kind of. Not really. A bit. Sorry, no, that's a lie. But good news, this is not the last chapter, not by a long stretch._

_I beg your indulgence for any OOC moments from here on out, as we move into uncharted territory._

_Partly inspired by NHas' prompt "Sharon & Andy have to act like a couple during a stakeout/ surveillance operation", although great minds must think alike, because it was already half written when you gave me your amazingly wonderful list. (Thank you, truly!)_

_As always, I hope you enjoy this chapter, thank you all for your amazing support and encouragement, and let me know what you think._

**Lament**

Their latest case calls for an undercover operation at a high society function full of politicians and benefactors, and she almost throws up lunch at the cliché of her and Andy arriving in their finest attire, wired to the nines and smiling like they belong there. She can't deny that he looks very dapper in his tuxedo, but even so, she doesn't need the stress on her nerves, especially with Taylor hanging over their shoulders.

His help with Rusty the other week- and more to the point his willingness to make a midnight run to the shops for her and hang around just for the hell of it- both elates and confuses her. It was much more straight-forward when they flirted shamelessly with each other and then left it at that; when he brought her a tea with a grin and a wink, and then left her alone. She doesn't know what to do with this Andy. She doesn't know what it means that she holds herself back from offering him a couch to sleep on, if only to have him stay around just a little bit longer, orbiting in her space but never getting too close.

He seems to hold himself back too, frequently making a conscious effort to distance himself from her physically, or decline an invitation to dinner.

Part of her feels glad for his restraint. Mostly she feels like a teenager with a pathetic crush. And part of her- a small, quiet part down in the depth of her soul and seeping into the fabric of her bones- recognises exactly what she's feeling, and that's chilling.

She hangs off his arm, a light shawl in the crooks of her elbows, her hair curled and flowing around her shoulders. She can't deny that she feels very pretty, but she runs through the operation plan again in her head and follows him up the steps to the ballroom.

"I cannot believe you roped me into this- I am the boss" she says through her smile, nodding at people she's never met as they walk confidently through the front doors.

"Politician's kid gets killed, Taylor asks for the best. I couldn't very well show up to a party like this without a dame on my arm"

She surreptitiously pinches the soft skin just under his bicep and he winces. "Call me a dame again"

He just pats her hand and leads her inside, muttering an 'ow' under his breath.

"Consider it a compliment" he says with a shrug, picking up a single champagne flute from a passing waiter and handing it to her. She takes it with a suspicious eye. "Sykes can't be up this late- it's past her bedtime. So unless you wanted Provenza and I to make a scene as a very special kind of couple, you're in the hot seat"

She grins at him despite her mood. "It's not the date I have a problem with it's the fact that I'm not out there coordinating my team- Sykes included thank you"

He ignores the way his heart skips when she allows this to be called a date, and watches as she takes an absent sip of her drink. She'll only have the one, for appearances sake, but that doesn't mean she can't indulge. After all, she has to make it look authentic if they're to pull off their cover.

"Provenza knows what he's doing"

"Don't get me wrong, I trust you all implicitly" she replies, almost defensive, but really just reassuring.

"But?" he probes, ushering her further into the ballroom and towards the back of the room where they can get a good view of everyone coming and going.

"I'm the boss, Andy. It's my responsibility to look after the team, and it should be on my head if something goes wrong"

He smiles at her sense of duty; at her feeling of needing to be held accountable, as though standing between the team and Taylor as the sacrificial lamb is going to make the slightest bit of difference. It might be naïve, but it's sweet nonetheless.

Their mikes and cameras aren't turned on yet, so their conversation is a private one. It also means he doesn't have a barking voice in his head telling him to stop looking at the flawless gown she's wearing and focus on the job. The night is young, their suspect a good hour away yet, and it feels like an excellent opportunity to mingle and charm, and just generally pretend that they really are together.

"Oh my god" she mutters, her eyes catching something across the room and lighting up.

"What?"

"Tanji Bharti"

"Who?"

"A woman I went to college with; she married a computer genius back east. I haven't seen her in years. Excuse me just a moment"

She touches his arm and lightly squeezes it as she moves in the direction of the woman she recognises. With her champagne flute in one hand and her dress gathered lightly in the other she breezes across the floor, and there is little doubt left in his mind that she was born to this life. This environment, with its pearls and ball gowns, penguin suits and Moet, it's in her DNA, and though she's never outright said what kind of family she has, he imagines fabulous parties in the Hamptons and family holidays on east coast beaches.

Of course, it could just come from inside her- an inner self confidence and just enough good breeding to bring it out. But just for tonight he's going to pretend she's his East Coast Princess, and there's nobody but his own conscience to stop him. He watches on from his place a few tables over as she taps the woman on the shoulder and they embrace in a friendly hug. They exchange a few words, and for a moment Andy is worried that she'll give them away, blow their cover and it's all over. But when he sees Sharon gesture in his direction and move just fractionally closer to the woman's ear, he understands that she's not giving the cover story to this one. This Tanji woman must be trustworthy, he thinks, and then she looks at him he nods politely with a smile, which she returns.

She says something to Sharon which causes her to throw her head back with a laugh and then shake it, denying emphatically while Tanji looks at him again, and he thinks he could be the topic of conversation.

He watches Sharon again, a light blush on her cheeks as she moves the conversation away from him. She looks relaxed, and happy, and just so radiant.

She looks like the most beautiful woman he's ever laid eyes on.

He almost laughs at himself for how sentimental that sounds, until she greets a man who is obviously Tanji's husband, and her eyes light up, and she smiles wide and honest. No, he thinks, he was wrong to chase beauty in hot young things with no brains and big tits. This- with a full and glorious life written on her face and a body that defies her age- this is true beauty.

God, if only he was allowed a drink.

He walks over to them, for lack of anything better to do, and introduces himself. A moment later Tanji excuses herself and her husband to go mingle with investors, and they just nod and wave them off.

"College buddy, huh?"

"That's right" she says, turning to face him with a hint of a smirk.

"Let me guess- Ivy League brat, pre-law, dropped out to become a cop instead?" he whispers in her ear.

She doesn't look put out, just amused, and takes another sip of her champagne. "You know me too well"

"Maybe I do"

She hums at him and looks out to the crowd as she raises her eyebrows, her eyes shining behind the rims of her glasses despite the fact she's not looking at him.

"Maybe I like it that way" he adds, barely a whisper.

She nods, her eyes turning dark and contemplative, her brow furrowing just a little bit to give the impression that she's no longer really seeing anything, but is instead inside her own head. "Maybe I do too" she answers.

Flirting, always flirting, and yet every word rings true for him, and the way her eyes hold a tension in the corners- the way they're not completely playful- suggests it's the same for her.

It takes another hour for their suspect to arrive, and they turn on their hidden cameras- his in a fancy lapel pin, hers in the lining of her clutch (courtesy of a joint effort with the FBI, which means hopefully they'll foot the bill this time). They track him for a good forty minutes, making sure he doesn't seem suspicious while the rest of the team are simultaneously raiding his house and business. They keep an eye on the people he talks to, and Sharon is quick with the running commentary in Andy's ear, identifying the high political fliers and top executives that this guy keeps as his closest company. They mingle politely, but never linger long enough to have to give details about themselves or become in any way memorable, and if anyone seems suspicious, they don't show it.

Just as the clock is about to hit the hour- the agreed time for their surveillance to come to a close because the raiding parties have started processing their scenes- a burly man in a sharp suit with a clear earwig steps up to their suspect. He gives a short and sharp apology to the people he's talking to, and walks briskly away towards a side door with an angry look on his face.

Eyeing the configuration of the ballroom, Sharon moves quickly to intercept his path, dragging Andy with her. They step in front of the door with an effected giggle from Sharon just as the man is about to step through it, and he crashes into her, his wine glass spilling all down the side of her dress and his own shirt front.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry" she exclaims, feigning shock, casually stepping further into his path and planting her hands on his chest. "I didn't even see you-"

"It's fine, please"

"Oh no, please, let me pay for that, look at your shirt, it's ruined"

She deliberately stalls him, preventing him from walking out, their cameras transmitting a clear picture of his face to the surveillance van, and the act giving the team a clear warning that the suspect knows something is wrong.

"Really, it's fine. Please, I'm just-"

"Oh honey, look at this gentleman's shirt, it's all my fault"

Andy finds it completely bewildering to hear her sound so needy, but follows her lead and acts his part.

"Sir, please let me apologise for my wife, it was a complete accident-"

"Really. It's fine. Now please, if you could, I really must go"

They can't stop him any longer without causing suspicion, so they watch him walk away and hope they gave the team enough time to get things sorted at the other end. They have little reason to stay now, and so they make their way into a back corridor and around to where the bathrooms are, as well as a small sitting room, though he can't see why this place needs one. Andy flips his lapel over and notices the little light has turned off, and sighs, the need to be on guard all over, the others awaiting their return. She notices some wine that spilled onto her shoe and takes a seat in one of the sitting room chairs, sliding her heal off and fishing a tissue out of her clutch.

"Your dress" he says, seeing the drying wine stain down the side.

She sighs and picks at it. "It's white wine. Hopefully my drycleaner can work a miracle"

They hear the band strike up in the next room, and a soft smile crosses her face as she puts the shoe on the ground by her feat, sliding her foot out of the other one too so she's at least one height.

"And I didn't even get a dance out of it" she says.

Her tone is light, but he thinks she might be a little bit serious, and so he pulls her up and further into the small carpeted sitting room by one hand and spins to face her.

"Oh no, I can't, look, I have no shoes and a ruined dress"

"So we'll dance here" he says, sweeping her into his arms and swaying them side to side. "We've danced together barefoot on carpet before, if you recall"

She certainly does recall, and so with a final roll of her eyes she allows him to lead them around the small space of carpet, ruined dress, bare feet and all. She can't stop the grin that takes over, and he knows he has a goofy expression on his face. The music is a lively waltz, not nearly intimate enough to dance like they did the last time, but he leads them in silly circles and they grin at each other as he nearly fumbles over the hem of her dress, which is dragging on the ground without the height of her heals.

If he could do this every day he thinks he'd be a happy man indeed- he doesn't even need the sex really; who is he kidding, of course he does, but this right here feels more intimate and more loving than anything else his mind can conjure up, and if he one day finds a way to show her how he feels, he thinks he'll tell her that. He thinks he'll dance with her every night for the rest of their lives, in one fashion or another. He thinks the smile she's giving him is answer enough to a question he hasn't even asked yet.

He spins them around and around, and then loses his balance, toppling over the table in the middle in the room and saving himself by just admitting defeat and sitting on it. She catches herself before she crashes into him and giggles at him, their hands still clasped. He stands up, but loses his balance and sits back down again, and then stands up again and this time stays upright thanks to her hand on his arm.

They're laughing at each other, tears in the corners of their eyes, and Sharon loses her own balance as the giggles take her over in waves. She clutches Andy's arm and sways away from him clutching her stomach, before her centre of gravity sends her swinging back into him. He's laughing just as hard, and catches her upper arms without thinking.

He has no idea what comes over him. He loses his head, he lets instinct take over, he forgets for a minute all of the reasons why not and where they are and what's at stake. He holds her arms as they both laugh.

And then he leans down and kisses her.

It's brief.

It's perfect.

They both go willingly, their eyes closed, and for two whole blissful seconds they're just two people on the brink of a whole new future sharing their very first kiss, the sound of their laughter still ringing in the air.

And then the spell is broken.

She pulls away with wide, expressive eyes, a look like betrayal crossing her features.

"I'm sorry" he says, his hands still lightly on her arms. "I'm sorry, that was-" He lets her go. "That was stupid"

"Yes" she breaths, her eyes still betraying her shock. "Yes it was"

Her voice doesn't match the words she's saying. He risks a glance at her, and finds her to be fidgety and unsure, and he'd almost pat himself on the back for flustering the unmovable Sharon Raydor, except it doesn't feel like a victory.

She shakes herself out of her stupor and sits down to quickly put her shoes back on, and then stands and places one hand on the back of her hip. She spins slowly in a full circle on the spot, her other hand coming up to trace the corners of her mouth.

Once she's facing him again she stops, her composure back.

His hands have found their way to his pockets and he thinks if he just stares at the floor long enough surely it will do him a solid and eat him whole.

"Andy-" she begins.

He looks at her, and she's trying to find her words, the hand not on her back doing as much talking as her mouth. Some days he thinks that if she was forced to sit on her hands she'd be a mute. Other days a single look can say all she needs.

"This… us… it's…"

"I know"

They both suddenly become very still. They are aware that neither of them is denying it; that whatever they're talking about, they both recognise it. It's there. None of the words in this conversation mean what they think they mean. Nothing is coming out right. But then they take a moment to just look at each other, and it's one of those times when they don't need words.

"I'm sorry" she whispers, her eyes tearing up just a little.

"I know"

"We can't" she says, stronger. She shakes her head. "The job, Rusty… we can't"

He just nods, and looks to the floor again with a puff of breath.

She looks so conflicted, standing there almost in tears as she reminds them both why it just can't be the way they want it to be. She clicks her tongue at herself, seeing her grief reflected in his hunched posture and the way he won't meet her eyes again.

She steps forward, holding back her tears, shaking her head, and in a move that surprises him, she wraps her arms around him in a firm and solid embrace, holding on tightly. His head ends up on her shoulder, and he slides his hands out of his pockets and brings them around her back, fingers splayed, and clutches to her.

"I wish things were different" she whispers over his shoulder.

He only tucks his chin further against her neck and squeezes just a little bit tighter.

"One day they might be" he replies after a minute, finally finding his voice again.

She sobs, once, and then pulls away and composes herself, and they both make a silent agreement to not let this get in the way of whatever it is they have; the delicate balance they're maintaining. He looks at her long and hard, reiterating his previous point, and she gives a single imperceptible nod. He picks up her hand, running his thumb across it, and then kisses it.

She's not sure how it's possible that she's both elated and heartbroken at the same time.

"Until then…" he says, and holds out the crook of his elbow, his posture straightening. "M'lady"

She smiles at him, a real and tender smile, full of all the gratitude she can't express and all the love she might just feel after all, and takes his arm and allows him to lead her out the side door and towards their surveillance van.

She's often been caught in that hard place between following the rules and being fair. It seems a cruel irony that her own fastidiousness has come back to bite her. That Andy seems to understand should make her feel better, but it just makes the whole situation more miserable. Of course she finds a man now, here, in this place of her life, a man who truly gets why she is the way she is. Of course he's the one man who is entirely off limits.

She boxes it all away and is grateful that she has him at all, and then she steps into the surveillance van that's hidden around the corner and lets the work consume her.

She has no idea how else to cope with this.


	10. Canon

_Feedback on my last chapter was completely overwhelming, thank you all so very much, I really truly appreciate every word I get. And so, in celebration of finishing my 2500 assignment that's been annoying me all week, here's another short and silly chapter for you all as thanks. _

_This whole chapter is one big metaphor, because I like metaphors, and I've been wanting to do a Rusty chapter for a while. For your own information I'm referencing in this chapter Act4 Scene1 of Much Ado About Nothing, just in case you guys got lost or want to read it for yourself. It's been a few years since I did high school literature, but I still love this play, so you get a crash course in Shakespeare, you're welcome. _

_Also includes NHas's prompt: 'Sharon has a chance to try Andy's veggie lasagne', if only vaguely._

_Only a few more chapters before some resolution, but yes, in response to my wonderful reviews, this is extended foreplay. Doesn't it just make it all the sweeter, though?_

_As always, I hope you still like it, and let me know what you think of the latest._

**Canon**

Rusty often finds himself comparing his mother- this figure that raised him- and Sharon Raydor, this woman who has no real claim over him yet loves him all the same. He watches her sometimes, the easy sway of her movements around the kitchen as she's cooking, or the efficient flicking of the sheets as she's changing the beds. She is the diametric opposite of his mother in every way that counts, and sometimes he shocks himself with just how comfortable he's become in a life where he matters.

He's noticed, because he's not blind and he does know her fairly well now, that this difference extends to her romantic relationships. Where Sharon Beck had never felt complete without the love of a man, Sharon Raydor commands her space in such a way that even imagining another person in it is strange, almost uncomfortable. He still can't reconcile that her husband has any kind of claim to her home or her life.

And yet it takes him a while to notice that Flynn has become such a permanent fixture that he's not the intruder Rusty expected.

From his place at the desk he peaks over at them, sitting on the couch with files open in front of them, more files scattered on the coffee table. They're side by side, thighs almost touching, talking through their latest case with practiced ease, finishing each other's sentences without realising.

It's a scene that's become familiar enough that it's comforting. Flynn had come over to make his (apparently) world famous lasagne, and Sharon had indulged in her customary wine, and Rusty had been shepherded off to grab his homework as they settled on the couch to work, preferring the comfort of her home to the stark light and hard angles of a conference room at work.

And yet Rusty senses a tension in the air that wasn't there before; a buzz surrounding them like they're far too aware of each other, and of their proximity, and of every little word that passes between them. They've always been aware of each other in the past, especially in the months since Flynn became a real friend, but this tension feels far more tenuous, and it makes Rusty nervous.

It's not obvious, but he's been around sex- and his mother's string of partners- enough to see that these two would like nothing more than to be making out on that couch.

The thought makes him grin to himself.

The whole team have embraced him as their own, but none more than Sharon and Flynn, together, as a kind of partnership. Rusty has come to acknowledge the great friend he's been to Sharon, and that they have developed romantic feelings doesn't surprise him.

But he has figured out the rules- the things Sharon loves so much- and knows that they prohibit them from being together, and frankly he finds that damn unfair. If anyone deserves to have someone take care of them it's his foster mother; everyone knows she's too stubborn to allow someone to be her knight in shining armour, but if anyone can penetrate her tough shields, it's Andy Flynn.

Rusty thinks it's just sad that the most they seems to be allowed to have is this moment on the couch, the subject of work a convenient cover and the safety of Rusty in the room preventing anything untoward.

"Sharon?" he asks, frowning at one of the class questions in front of him.

She hums in acknowledgement, looking up from the report she's studying. Flynn looks up too, but Rusty doesn't pay much attention.

"What's the significance of the romantic relationship in Much Ado About Nothing?"

A sudden bark of laughter rings out from Flynn, and Rusty's eyes snap up. Sharon's eyes go fractionally wider, and she angles towards him quite comically as she gives a questioning look, surprised by his outburst.

"Something funny?" she asks with a smirk.

"Shakespeare. You'd think they'd have come up with more contemporary writers for schools after all this time"

"Well if it's not broken…" she replies, and then turns back to Rusty, who looks at them both with a lost expression on his face.

No, he really can't figure out why these two don't just get their acts together. Would anybody at work really care if they started a secret affair anyway? Would anybody really notice?

"Which romance do they mean?"

"The main one with Benedick and Beatrice"

She stands up and walks over to the desk, and Rusty sees Flynn follow her with his eyes. He's never seen that look on a person's face before, and certainly never from one of his mother's boyfriends, but he has seen enough movies to know what it means, and he gulps down his embarrassment at having witnessed something so intensely personal.

"Okay" she starts, leaning over his shoulder to read the question herself. "So what are you confused about?"

"Well, they seem to hate each other all through the play, and she mentions that he was a real ass to her in the past, but then at the end out of nowhere they fall in love. I don't get it"

"Okay, so…"

She picks up his copy of the play and flicks it open, reading page numbers as she goes. "This was one of my favourites at school" she mutters, licking her finger and flicking two more pages, finding the passage. Flynn grins from his place on the couch, and Rusty has no idea why it's funny.

"Okay, here. So, you have to imagine they're actors performing this part. Imagine how it would play out"

She hands the book to Rusty and he reads through the passage.

"Yeah, but Sharon, until this bit, they hate each other, and then here- this- 'I do love nothing in the world so well as you', but before that he's-"

"Yes, but if you go back a couple of pages" she says, taking the book and flicking back pages before handing it to him again. "You see he asks if Hero's okay when she swoons. You see his true colours there- he acts like he's above it all and better than her, but really he's very caring. He just doesn't show it"

Rusty reads the page again, and then flicks back to the page featuring the mutual declaration of love, a confused frown on his face. "But then why does she go along with it? I mean, if he was an ass, but he was secretly nice, that's no reason for her to stop hating him"

"Well, he obviously rejected her in the past and was in some way hurtful, and that's why she resents him, but that's not to say she doesn't still have feelings for him" starts Sharon. Rusty is sure she doesn't mean for her eyes to take on that look, but he ignores it and lets her continue her explanation, seeing Flynn shift in his seat out of the corner of his eye. "See here, this whole conversation is about how she's concerned he'll reject her again, and then she puts down men for being the weaker sex because of how badly Hero has been hurt"

She points to the part she's referring to and Rusty reads it again. "So in order to prove to her that he still loves her and he'll do right by her this time, Beatrice tells him he must use his love to start a duel with Claudio, and Benedick agrees"

"Okay" drawls Rusty, nodding along as he processes that part of the story. "But that doesn't explain why they went from hating each other to loving each other in the course of, like, a page"

"Well…" starts Sharon, straightening and cocking her head, crossing her arms to consider the question. They are both a little startled when Flynn speaks, but they listen all the same.

"Sometimes kid, people want to hate each other, or even just ignore each other, and sometimes they really do dislike each other, like really genuinely can't stand their guts. But it doesn't stop them from loving each other too"

He shrugs a little to make his point, and Rusty nods, considering the very confusing human condition that Shakespeare was trying to capture. Sharon is still and silent beside him. "So it's like, when they finally acknowledge that despite their past, they really do love each other, then they actually like each other as people because of love?"

Sharon nods, her lips pursed in a proud smile, and Flynn gives him a soft smile. "Right" he says, point at him for emphasis.

"Well that's just dumb" says Rusty, seeming quite personally offended by the premise. Sharon huffs a laugh at him and Flynn nods his head to the side, admitting his point. "What's the point of being in love if they pretend they hate each other?"

"Well that's where you have this line here" says Sharon, leaning down and again flicking through the play. "Here- 'Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably'. So basically they're saying that because they don't pretend to be all loving to each other when they're not, their relationship will be stronger because they're honest"

"Okay"

"Make sense?"

"I think so, yeah. I still think they're idiots though"

Sharon laughs and squeezes a hand on his shoulder as she steps back, Rusty's head going back to his books.

"I mean, if they love each other, why not just tell each other, you know?"

He doesn't notice the way Sharon's step falters or the way Flynn suddenly looks very interested in the report in front of him. He vaguely registers Sharon walking into the kitchen, but he doesn't notice if she opens the fridge or not, or if she checks the cupboard for something. She walks back into the room a moment later, composed again, and Flynn clears his throat and stands up.

"I think I should head home, Captain. I'll take these with me, but I don't know that they'll tell us much more"

"Okay" she replies with a nod, her arms folded around herself and her cardigan wrapped tightly.

It seems strange to Rusty that Flynn uses her rank and is excusing himself so early; usually he stays and they talk long after he's gone to his room to read and listen to music. His mother would have begged male company to stay, if only to lead them to bed once she thought he was asleep. The men, too, would have tried to stay as long as possible, the promise of easy sex enough to drag the night on. But Flynn stands up and swings his arms back into his coat, picking up a handful of files from the couch and makes his way towards the door, and Sharon doesn't stop him, though Rusty sees a dark look on her face.

"See ya later kid" he calls.

"Bye. Thanks for dinner" says Rusty. He's always grateful for a hot meal.

"Welcome" he replies with a kind smile.

Sharon walks him to the door and opens it, and she barely meets his eye as he approaches, looking at him only once he is level with her.

"Thank you for dinner. It really was great" she says with a smile that doesn't quite meet her eyes.

"Any time" he mutters back, and though Rusty doesn't risk taking a peek behind him, he can almost feel the tension between them again, and feels almost uncomfortable for being in the same room.

He turns back to his play and rereads the scene, and there's a thought niggling in the back of his mind that he just can't place, and he knows it will fall into place later.

When Sharon walks back into the room with a weary sigh he looks up, noticing the tension in her shoulders and the way she absently runs her hand through her hair.

"Are you okay?" he asks tentatively. She's still an unmovable force in his mind. The thought of her being less than okay is foreign.

"I'm fine, Rusty. It's just been a long day"

He stands up with his play in hand and walks slowly over to her, not quite sure why he's doing what he's doing, but feeling the need to make a gesture.

"Why don't you give this another read to relax? You really seem to like it" he offers, holding it out to her.

"You need it to study" she counters with a smile.

"I'm done with those questions anyway. And I can finish the rest tomorrow"

She eyes him for a moment, and then stretches out her hand and takes the book from him with pursed lips and a grateful nod. "Thank you Rusty"

He nods at her once, and then darts over to the desk to clear his stuff. He's getting better at accepting her as the nurturer that she is, but he still feels awkward about it, like it's more care than he really needs or deserves. Still, she's proven that she's not going anywhere, and he resigns himself to getting used to the way she's always looking out for him.

He takes his things to his room, changes into his pyjamas, grabs another book he has to study later in the semester, and walks back out to the living room. She's opened the book to close to where he was studying it, and though he can't see the text he figures she's rereading the last of the hatefulness between the two lovers. She flicks the page to start reading the parts where they actually like each other. He sits on the armchair closest to her, sprawled over its arms, and immerses himself in his own book.

It only later, when he's lying in bed, that it occurs to him what their behaviour meant, and why Flynn suddenly up and left, and why Sharon had looked so wistful when describing this impossible, stupid, iconic love story. He could smack himself for not noticing it sooner, but then, it's not like they'd behaved the way most lovers he'd known behaved. Sharon didn't call him at all hours of the day and night the way his mother had, and she didn't practically have sex with him on the couch, and they were only ever loving and attentive when it came to helping him with homework, or that dance at school, or anything else he asked about.

His mother and Sharon are two very different women, and so he finds himself hoping that Sharon can find a way to let Flynn be there for her the way his mother's boyfriends never were. He hopes that this time it will be different. He hopes it happens soon.


	11. Coda

_HOLY. CRAP. 100 reviews. You guys just blow me out of the water. I am totally overwhelmed and completely touched, and I don't know how else to thank you except to give you all virtual hugs. Your support for this story has been so encouraging. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. _

_So after finishing one 2500 word essay and one 1500 word essay this week, and indulging in a BSG marathon yesterday and an SG-1 marathon today (both with my bestie), I've got another chapter for you all. Mind the swearing- it's small but there._

_Includes mhopeg's prompt: 'Andy's oral fixation (toothpicks, gum, always something in his mouth) is driving Sharon crazy.'_

_Always and as ever, I hope you enjoy this one. _

**Coda**

Andy scrubs a hand over his eyes as he sighs to himself, chewing absently on a toothpick. The couple of weeks since their kiss have been unbearable, and he wonders what she'd say if he just gave up and retired so they could be together. He wouldn't really, of course, because that's just ridiculous, but it's no more ridiculous than the cloud that hangs between them, and he wishes there was some kind of middle ground between a relationship and being just friends. Something that allows them to be together without breaching the boundaries of propriety.

It's easy to forget all about it when they're out doing their jobs; even lunch with the whole team can be friendly enough if they make a point to sit apart and don't talk about the shared times between them. But when it's just them, or he catches her eye across the way, a pang jolts through his chest and he has to look away, because knowing what he could have- the domesticity that would be so damn easy between the two of them, and with the kid as well- hurts, in the same way that it hurt when he first lost his wife and children to the bottle and couldn't see them every day.

Provenza has noticed- of course he's noticed, he's a lifelong cop- but whether he can tell that this is different is another story. He corners him alone in the break room, just as Andy's finding a moment to himself and clearing his head, and Andy knows he's in for it by the dark and angry look on his partner's face.

"You need to knock it off" he orders, pointing his finger and closing the door behind him for some semblance of privacy.

"What?" snaps Andy from his place by the coffee machine, toothpick bobbing in his mouth. He's been in a foul mood all day because of the case- they all have- and he's in no mood for a lecture, though at first he's genuinely confused over what this is about.

"You and her need to pull your heads out of your asses and get it back in the game. You make me sick"

"I'll say again, what the _hell_ are you talking about" he says as he turns slightly, taking out the toothpick and slipping it into the chest pocket of his suit jacket.

"Don't play dumb with me Andrew, I've known you a long time, and I have _never_ seen you so hung up on a woman"

"Hung up? Who's hung up?"

"You are" barks Provenza, his eyebrows rising.

"On who?"

"_On who_" he mocks. "On Raydor, that's who"

"What?" squeaks Andy in disbelief, shaking his head as though to clear out his ears. "We work together, it's been a shit day, excuse me if we're all a little on edge"

"Oh no" says Provenza, wagging his finger at him and stepping closer. "It's not just today. Hell, it's not just this week. You two have been making eyes at each other for months, and then suddenly a couple of weeks ago it all turns broody and you're acting like she dumped you at prom. Get a grip-"

"You have no idea what you're talking about" says Andy, shaking him off with an annoyed glare and collecting his coffee.

"Oh really. Well then why haven't you been chasing that hot blonde that just transferred upstairs, pretty young thing, likes pink skirts. Hmm?"

"What blonde?" asks Andy, looking perplexed and confused and a bit put out.

"Exactly! You're too busy eyeing off your girlfriend. It's affecting your game, but more importantly it's effecting this team. Already Sykes has asked me why you and Raydor are always partnered up, and just earlier I had Sanchez ask me if you'd know what the Captain has for her lunch order. _Sanchez_. The man speaks four words a day and he wasted them on an observation about your inappropriate conduct"

"Hey" barks Andy, looking suddenly very serious and genuinely mad. "There is nothing inappropriate going on. Nothing. And I won't have you saying otherwise. She's already under enough scrutiny from Taylor- the man's just looking for an excuse to force her into retirement and fill this place with people who, quite frankly, won't give a shit about _your_ ego and will be happy to toss you out on your ass too. So lay off, before petty rumours start to be taken seriously"

Provenza stands there for a moment in shock, his mouth hanging slightly open, his eyes slowly coming to a realisation that Andy doesn't notice before it's too late.

"You love her" he says, his voice betraying his deep and honest surprise. That he doesn't look disgusted or offended by the revelation speaks to his acknowledgement that the emotion he's seeing in the squad's resident playboy run deep to the soul; this is not some petty crush that he's been watching play out, this is honest to god love. Andy just stands in front of him with a dark look and says nothing, his eyes showing his livid anger and maybe even a trace of betrayal.

"You're in love with Raydor" he says again with a wave of his finger, except the slight distinction in words seems important.

"You need to stop" says Andy, his voice low in his chest, his lips curled in a scowl, as though pretending to be angry will somehow cover the truth.

He can't help but feel relieved that someone else is in on the secret. It feels less of a burden to make it real, and not just a figment of his imagination. Provenza just stands there in his shock and takes it all in, cataloguing and recalling all the months that led to here; all the little things that seemed inconsequential on their own, but that together paint a vivid picture- every look and quirk and coffee and laugh, from both of them. Andy stares him down, practically daring him to make another comment, and Provenza loses his bite, his eyes softening just a fraction, recognising the position his partner is in.

"And would I be correct in assuming this love is not so much unrequited as it is forbidden?" he asks, his voice adopting a sort of kindness.

Andy completely deflates, his angry stance and hard eyes giving way to weariness as he lets out a breath and turns around, stepping back to his cooling coffee and absently stirring it.

Provenza continues to study him, and he can't deny the tragedy of the situation. He's never been Raydor's biggest fan, not by a long stretch, but he has come to respect the woman, and holds a grudging fondness for her in light of seeing her as a mother and a friend. He can't deny that it's an unusual match, but one that just might work if given the chance. He thinks that they're probably exactly what the other needs.

"I kissed her the other week" admits Andy, barely above a whisper, giving the last piece to the confusing puzzle that has been their behaviour towards each other.

"You what?"

"At the fancy surveillance job. By accident, mind you"

"Yes, because it's always an accident when you kiss a woman" replies Provenza with a roll of his eyes. Andy just ignores him, too caught in his confession.

"And now it's a big fucking mess and we can't do anything about it"

"Well, can't you go back to when you two were like a couple of teenagers making googly eyes? I mean, what's one kiss?"

Andy stays silent for a long while, and Provenza watches his back, really not sure how to respond. This is beyond anything the two of them have had to council each other in- falling in love with the boss, kissing her, not being able to be with her.

"I don't trust myself" admits Andy, shamefaced at sounding so pathetic in front of Provenza of all people.

As he picks up his mug and takes two big gulps of the lukewarm coffee, Provenza just shakes his head and quirks his eyebrow, not at all sure what to say to that.

"Well, I don't envy your position" he finally says, gruffly, but really just feeling awkward. "But that doesn't change the fact that you two have to sort something out. You can't let this affect this team, or Taylor will have both your asses regardless of whether or not you've done the horizontal mambo"

Andy snaps a look at him, then softens as he realises that he's right. At the end of the day, if their behaviour is being affected by each other it won't matter a damn if they've actually done anything.

"I'll try and sort something out" says Andy.

Provenza only nods, once, firmly, satisfied with that answer. "See that you do" he says.

With a final look that holds kindness and perhaps a bit of mirth, he leaves Andy alone again, leaving the door open on his way out. Andy knows he won't get a chance to talk to her in the immediate future- the case really has been wearing them all down, and he's thankful for a night at home to just watch television and chill out without the stress of it all.

The next day, after they've made an arrest and the deal has been struck, he finds himself in the break room again, and only a few seconds later she walks in too.

Her steps falter just slightly when she realises it's him, but she keeps walking forward, never one to be so petty as to not be in the same room as him. He pulls her mug out of the cupboard that he's standing in front of, but doesn't prepare the cup for her. He's trying to find the smallest of ways to distance himself.

"We have to stop meeting like this" he croons, his toothpick once again hanging out of his mouth. His flirting feels half-hearted. She huffs, but she doesn't really find it all that amusing, and he understands.

They stand together in silence as she takes out a teabag from the cupboard, and the way he's nervously flicking the toothpick between his teeth drives her crazy. She reaches her hand over and collects the sugar, and her hand almost brushes his, and his damn toothpick nearly takes out her eye, and she holds back a huff. Far be it for her to tell him what he can and can't put in his mouth. She bites her tongue and tries to ignore the movement of his mouth around the offending object, and instead focusses on her frustration with him.

He almost cost them their case, and she's still not happy with him, and the awkwardness between them and their proximity is only adding fuel to the fire.

After a few tense moments, in which they both handle the kettle and the milk from the fridge, Andy just can't take it anymore, and he turns and faces her, suddenly very close.

"Look, I'm sorry. I'll try not to get over-emotional in there again"

"Please, see that you do. We almost lost our deal to an officer-involved beat down"

"I know. I won't let it happen again"

His tone is genuinely sorry, or as sorry as Andy Flynn can be over threatening to punch a man in the mouth.

"Thank you" she says with a jerky nod, stirring her tea and putting the teaspoon in the sink.

They fall into silence again, and it would be comfortable if they weren't both hyperaware of what the other was doing.

She hears him sigh, and can detect his mood before he opens his mouth, though it would be a hell of a lot easier if he didn't say anything and just kept quiet.

"I can't do it anymore" he says softly, taking his toothpick out of his mouth, and she has a fleeting thought that he better throw that in the bin, or that's just gross.

"What?" she asks, looking at him in the eye. Anything else she has to say is lost as she looks at him and realises what he's talking about. She looks very nervous, and he understands that this really isn't the time to do this, but he got a whiff of her perfume when she'd stepped close to him, and all he can think about is how she feels when she's in his arms and they're dancing around her living room, pretending like this is not the beginning of something huge.

"I can't ignore it anymore. It's killing me" he says without looking at her, tossing his toothpick in the bin beside the bench.

"We have to" she says, tears almost springing to her eyes, her voice cracking as she plants her hand on the edge of the bench, his unexpected frankness catching her off-guard.

"Provenza told me to pull my head out of my ass because it's affecting our ability to work together"

"He what?"

She looks worried, and a little bit fearful as she crosses her arms around herself, so he shakes his head to comfort her, knowing he can't touch her for fear of crumbling the last of his resolve.

"I set him straight. But the point is he noticed something is up. How long before everyone else does too, huh? What difference will it make if we're together or not- either way it's inappropriate"

"We can't do this" she whispers, shaking her head, her voice stronger despite the lower volume. "You know that"

There's barely a foot between them, but they're not touching because the walls are glass and anybody could walk by. The last thing they need is to risk their jobs over a very deliberate nothing.

"I want to be able to kiss you again without worrying about our jobs"

"Andy…"

She shakes her head, looking at him in a way that almost breaks his heart, because it's there plain as day; she wants that too. She is aching to touch him, to let him wrap his arms around her; to kiss him senseless and then let him take her home and do a whole lot more than that. She's been hurting just as bad all this time, and that kills him, because he thinks if it was just about him he could find a way to get over her, but it's not, it's mutual, and that's just not fair.

"I want to sit on your couch and fight about whether to watch a movie or watch the game"

"Please. Stop this" she whispers harshly, her hands tightening on her own arms and her head hanging down. She can't look at him; she thinks if she does she'll finally give in, and she can't let that happen because she has fought too long and too hard to get to where she is. She has sacrificed for her career, and worked for years to find a balance with her husband that works for them both, and she can't let this beat her, now, just when things have settled.

"I want things to be different" he whispers to her, fighting with everything he has not to lean his head down and kiss her hair where it rests a few inches from his lips.

"And you know why they can't be" she mumbles back.

"Who's going to care about a couple of old farts breaking a teeny tiny rule? I can keep it a secret if you can"

"I'll care" she says without conviction, like she only half means it, though they both know that's not true. "And besides, you know as well as I do that these things never stay a secret for long. Never. And it always ends badly"

"Who says it has to end at all?"

That sounds overly sentimental, even to his ears, but he feels like it's honest enough. They're too old to be flinging around and keeping it casual- he finally feels like it's time to just find someone nice and settle down. It's no coincidence that he feels this way because he's in love with her; he thinks if he got to spend the rest of his days with only her that would be enough. Love has a funny way of changing people like that.

"Don't be so sentimental" she chides as she meets his eye, though he can tell his admission affects her. "That's not the point and you know it"

"Sharon, I-"

"I have to get back, excuse me"

The use of her first name snaps something inside her, and with tears in her eyes she steels her spine. She takes a deliberate step back from him, looks him in the eye and then turns on her heal and walks out the door. Her tea sits untouched on the counter, and he doesn't bother to call out to her. He sighs to himself, angry and worried that he just made everything worse.

This tension between them just keeps repeating itself and they keep going back to the same stalemate, and he can't stand it. He won't let her go, and she won't break the rules. They really can't go on like this. Sooner or later one of them is going to crack, and he just knows it's going to be him. He curses her strength and her conviction, and hates that it's one of the things he loves most about her, and he very nearly send his fist flying into the cabinet. But he holds himself back, takes another toothpick out of his pocket and sticks it in his mouth, picks up his drink and then hers too, and stalks towards her office.

He walks in her open door and puts her tea on the desk in front of her, and she looks a little bit scared that he's going to continue their scene, here, where anyone can look in through the blinds.

"I'll do my best" he says softly, not meeting her eye.

And then he turns and walks out, coffee in hand, before she can respond. Before he makes a fool of himself. Before he wraps his arms around her, plants his lips on hers, and refuses to move out of sheer stubbornness and pride.

He really doesn't know how to solve it.

This never-ending loop is killing him.


	12. Ave Maria

_Okay. No, you're right, you've all been amazingly patient and kind. I'll knock it off now._

_This is the first chapter in a series of 3. _

_Based on a prompt from the RaydorFlynn lj community 'Late Night Phone Call', and includes a prompt from skillwithaquill who asked for: 'Sharon/Andy - Broken promise.' I was also inspired by (and borrowed partially from) Something's Gotta Give, which I rewatched the other day and still love so much._

_I hope you enjoy this chapter, and stick with me as we bring some drama to this pair of idiots. _

_And as always, please let me know what you think._

**Ave Maria**

"Hear ye, hear ye" shouts Provenza, waltzing into the murder room with a flier in his hand. Tao and Sanchez just grin from their desks, with Sykes moving closer to see what all the fuss is about. Andy already knows what's going on, and so grins to himself, trying to ignore Sharon as she steps out of her office with an amused smile and her arms crossed, playing along to Provenza's town crier act. The whole atmosphere feels pleasant and familiar, and they finally look like a team, banded together as colleagues, held together by friendship.

"I have important news" he continues.

"What news, Sir?" asks Sykes with a grin. He eyeballs her, but it's playful enough, and everyone can see that he's starting to warm up to her despite her rough beginning.

"We have a ball coming up"

"A ball?" asks Sharon, stepping in a little closer. Nobody mentioned a ball to her.

"Yes, my lady, a ball. 'Dancing With The Kids', a police charity ball to raise funds for the children's ward at the hospital. And look here who's invited"

He points to the flier, though only Sykes is close enough to read it. "Major Crimes Division. As well as Robbery and Traffic"

"Oh joy" says Andy with an eye roll. They all know he has an ex in Traffic; a real bunny boiler type who still holds a grudge, and Sanchez grins at him.

"Your favourite"

"Shut up Julio"

"So, Captain, shall I assume we're all going to this ball? For the children?"

"What ball?" asks Buzz, making his way into the room from down the hallway.

"Police charity ball coming up" says Tao.

"Oh"

"Well don't sound so excited, Buzz. It's a chance to put on your dancing shoes and show us what you're made of" says Provenza with a smirk.

"I don't dance" he replies.

"It'll be fun" says Sykes, bouncing a little in her seat. "I love to dance"

"Well that's at least one going. Anyone else?"

Everyone eventually raises their hands, though Andy rolls his eyes as he's the last to put his hand up, and he really doesn't want to run into his ex. Sharon has her hand up with a grin, watching everyone eventually cave to the guilt of Provenza's 'think of the children' comment.

"And will Rusty be coming?" asks Buzz, turning to face their Captain, his concern over being a babysitter very apparent.

"No" says Sharon with a grin. "I'll make arrangements for him to stay with a friend"

Buzz sags with relief and she shakes her head in amusement and leaves Provenza to tally the RSVP's and send word to the organisers. The day is thankfully an easy one, full of banter and playful ribbing, and they don't get a new case until the afternoon. The leads are slow, and so she sends them all home at five that night, promising them they can return to it in the morning.

She's just packing up her office and collecting her things when Andy knocks on her door, and it has been a good enough day that, thankfully, the mood between them is bearable. He smiles gently at her, his eyes crinkled in the corners, and it makes her belly flutter, so she just smiles back and gives him an expectant look.

"I, ahh… just wanted to wish you a good night" he says, fumbling. She thinks it's a bit cute.

He hesitates on the spot before glancing back and nodding at her, turning to leave.

"Andy" she calls suddenly. He whips around so fast. "Did you want to come over for dinner? Rusty's out at chess club this evening and won't be dropped home until later. I wouldn't mind the company" she finishes with a little shrug and a sheepish smile.

She ignores the voice in her head (that sounds entirely too much like her mother) which tells her she's just asking for trouble and allowing herself to be put in a compromising position, but he was right the other day. They can't go on pretending nothing exists, and they also can't continue trying to ignore each other completely. If a few awkward dinners are what it's going to take to restore the equilibrium, she can deal with that.

"Sure" he replies, smiling. "I'd love that"

"Great" she smiles.

She closes up her office, and they walk side by side to the elevators, waving at Tao who lingers at his desk finishing a computer analysis from their latest murder. He waves back, but doesn't really pay them any attention.

It's starting to feel easy again, as they stand side by side, and when they part to go in their separate cars it's friendly and familiar. The arrival at her house is comfortable, and when she makes her way into the kitchen, he follows, throwing his jacket over the back of one of the dining chairs and rolling up his sleeves.

They make a meal together as though they've done it every night for years, and though the tension is palpable, she's starting to wear it like a second skin, allowing the feeling of being so desired to settle over her and comfort her the way Andy can't. She may not be allowed to be with him in a relationship, but there is no rule that prevents her from smiling at him over a bowl of linguini, a shy look in her eye. And if he returns it, well all the better.

They wash and dry the dishes side by side, and he's making them both coffees while she leans back against her bench, when she jokingly brings up the charity ball.

"So, this ball. I heard from a friend over at Traffic that a special someone is going to be there" she says to his back with a grin, enjoying the ability to make fun of him again; liking that she can share that she has a few meagre friends in the force.

"Please, please don't remind me. I went on two dates with the woman- _two_- and she's practically planning our wedding. I had to alter my lunch plans for a week just to avoid running in to her"

"Well, on the bright side, you don't know if she'll actually be there- you could always get lucky"

He puts his hands together in prayer and looks heavenward for a moment, his lips pretending to mumble to himself. She giggles at his antics and shakes her head.

"Don't be horrible" she chides half-heartedly.

"You've got no idea" he says adamantly.

"So find yourself a nice date to take" she says with a shrug. "Or would that just make it worse?" she adds, grinning stupidly at the thought of Andy getting embroiled in a scene between a jealous ex and a quick set-up. He shoots her a glare over his shoulder, secretly glad that she's mocking him, and turns back to his coffee preparations. He's using the super fancy barista machine that she's barely ever touched, and she's impressed enough to accept a coffee rather than a tea, just to try it out. The moment is light and fun, and she continues to smile at his back. He goes quiet, and seems strangely tense, and she should see it coming, but she's too caught up this moment to prepare herself.

He walks over to her with the coffee, and as he's handing her the mug he quickly says, "Go with me"

"What?" she asks, her brow furrowing with confusion as she takes a sip, licking the froth off her lip in the most adorable way.

"To the ball- be my plus one" he says, taking a step back and putting his coffee on the bench near the sink, afraid that he'll spill it with the way his hands are suddenly unsteady.

"You forget that I'm invited too?" she asks with a smirk, putting her coffee on the bench behind her, shifting her lower back against it where she's leaning and crossing her arms.

"No, I mean… go with me" he says again, his eyes lowing to the floor. "As my date"

Her face turns from playful to serious, to almost mournful. "Don't. You promised you wouldn't"

"I didn't promise anything-" he starts, looking up.

"You said you'd try- that you wouldn't let your feelings cloud your judgement again" she points out, giving him a look with a tilt of her head.

"My judgement's just fine thanks"

"Obviously not" she snaps. "You're standing in my kitchen telling me you'd like to take me on a date to a work function, where _everyone_ who is supposed to have _no_ idea about _this-_" She gestures jerkily between them. "… is going to be there"

Whatever playfulness they had is lost as he looks at her long and hard, taking a step closer to where she's leaning against the bench. His eyes swim with a million emotions, but she identifies possession, and affection, and perhaps some anger. She thinks she understand what all that equates to. It's enough to have her trembling.

"I don't want to go another day pretending like there's nothing here" he says lowly, gesturing between them. "I'm sick of acting like this isn't going anywhere"

"What do you-"

"Don't you dare play dumb" he sneers, shaking his head, his brow twitching and betraying the need that runs through him.

"I wasn't going to _play dumb_, I was going to ask you what you think is going to happen" she says, defensive and reassuring all in one.

He looks confused for a moment and she plants her palms on the edge of the bench behind her, sighing and shaking her head to collect her thoughts before looking at him again.

"Say we jump into this head first, where does that leave us, Andy? Transfer? Retirement? Charges against us for misconduct?"

"God, can't you leave the rules alone for one goddamn minute?"

"I'm not talking about the rules, I'm talking about _us_" she replies, her voice choking just slightly, giving away that underneath the calm and rational exterior she's just as passionate as he is, and perhaps angry that he's dismissing it. "I'm talking about what happens when we're called into question. Are you prepared for that? Are you going to stick by it? Because I refuse to compromise my career for an infamous Andy Flynn relationship"

His head snaps up so fast she thinks he might have broken something, and his lips quirk just-so in genuine anger. "You think I'm after a _fling_?" he rasps, his eyes turning dark, stepping towards her, their noses pointed at each other in challenge. "You think I'm here for a two-night-screw, wham bam thank you ma'am I'm done?"

Before she can comprehend what he's saying, his hand is on the back of her neck as he pulls her forward and crashes his lips to hers. It's a single, hard, unmoving kiss, full of all the desperation he can't articulate.

He pulls back just as suddenly, and his hand moves from her neck to her cheek when he realises she's not going to slap him after all, though her hand does come up to hold his wrist. There's still a space between them, a gap that feels a lot wider than it actually is. Her eyes are open and wide, her mouth in a little circle of surprise.

She is shaken out of her reverie by the pad of his thumb running across her cheek, and she blinks long and hard, maybe truly seeing him for the first time.

"Andy-" she whispers, barely at all, just loud enough. His features soften at the sound of her voice, and before she can question what the hell she's doing her hand sneaks behind his neck and she closes the gap and kisses him right back. His lips are softer than she expects them to be. Their free hands go around each other's backs as they part just slightly, clutching, and their bodies rest flush against each other, their lips coming together again in a long, slow embrace. It's sweeter than the frantic desperation of before- gentle and unhurried, like they've got all the time in the world.

They stand like that for a long time, one hand each on neck and back, lips barely moving, breathing through their noses, their eyes closed, just feeling. She feels the desperate hold of his fingers against her spine, and the way his other hand flicks into her hair and out again as though he's wanted to do that for ages. Maybe he has. His breath is raspy and over-emotional, and she knows she is not much better, because all she can really focus on is the feeling of his heartbeat that she can taste on his lips. She thinks he's as loath to move away as she is, as though moving out of this moment will somehow bring reality crashing back around their ears.

She pulls back, breathing deeply, resting her forehead against his chin as she finally finds the courage to open her eyes.

He waits a beat.

She listens to him draw in a breath.

She breaths out.

Nothing happens.

Nobody runs in screaming bloody murder, the sky stays where it is, and when he dares to lower his cheek next to rest against hers, Sharon is smiling. A soft, wide smile. He can feel it.

He can't help but smile too, moving his arms to encircle her back, holding her tight to him.  
She does the same, and turns her head to rest her cheek against his chest.

"Just so you know, I don't know how to do this" she says quietly.

"It doesn't have to be complicated" he replies with a shrug and a soft smile, his grip twitching just a little bit tighter around her.

"My life, just before this moment, before all this; it was good. I knew what I was doing, and I was good at it. I could have lived it forever"

"And now?" he whispers. He doesn't sound worried, because she's still wrapped in his arms, her tone light, and he thinks that she really doesn't have any intention of going anywhere. He thinks she's just too keyed up to keep it all inside any longer, and he's getting a front row seat to her every thought for the first time. That there might be more times like this after tonight sends a warmth running through him.

"This is going to turn into one big mess, isn't it?" she asks, low in her throat.

"Probably" he replies, without regret.

"Well okay then. Just so we're clear"

"And the rules?" he asks pulling back to look her in the eye, his hand coming up to once again cup her cheek.

"They got shot sometime around that first kiss I think"

"Great" he replies with a smile, and then he gently pulls her closer and kisses her again.

She wraps her arms around his neck far too dramatically for her liking, her eyes closed, and he holds her by the waist flush against him, eliminating all of the space between them. It's tender, and sweet, and exactly everything he thought it would be.

He doesn't try to seduce her tonight; she has enough to think about just being with him without the added pressure of first-time performance. But he drags her to the couch and holds her for a long time, and allows himself to admit that this is the best damn mess he's ever got himself into. He kisses her over and over, and runs his hand through her hair like he's wanted to do for the longest time (she knew it) and holds her close and breathes her in. He smells her perfume, and hears her hum, and feels her heartbeat under his hand when he rests it on her breastbone, and watches as she closes her eyes, leans her head back, and lets him. He kisses that space when he moves his hand away, and sees her smile.

He leaves before Rusty gets home, and she's thankful for that, because she has no idea what to make of this, and so has no idea how to explain to Rusty what this means. She had promised to keep him informed of any changes in their lives, but it feels decadent to have a little secret of her own, and she decides to hold on to it until they've had a chance to see what this thing can be.

He texts her goodnight, much later, and tells her he'll see her in the morning.

She tells herself, when she's sitting in her office at nine thirty the next day, is that she's not waiting for him, and she won't rush out to meet him the second he arrives.

When he doesn't show up, she thinks he might have just slept in, or had a dentist appointment he forgot to mention, and it's not until morning break that she really gets worried, and she mentions it to Provenza. He's worried too, and the two of them share a look before informing everyone to keep an ear out.

It is late morning before they realise he's missing. Genuinely missing, complete with ransacked house, an unanswered phone, and the last place anybody saw him was at her home last night; missing.

It's lunch time, and the department is frantic, calling it in across town and compiling a list of known enemies of Andy Flynn. She chews her fingernail as an old colleague brings down his FID file, and she starts to sift through it herself, being the most familiar with it. God, and isn't that just twisting the knife.

A ransom call is made, and she's not sure which is worse- hearing his voice read out a pre-written note, or realising that he's been gone all night and nobody knew about it; nobody could help him.

She promises him they'll find him just as he's taken off the line.

They soon learn- because Tao is a genius and they love him for that- that this isn't a ransom demand at all, it's a revenge killing. She tries to pick out their likely suspect from his case history, but no names jump out at her, and so they hope to god he calls again, or they have nothing. Based on the flimsy evidence they have, it becomes obvious that this crime is methodical and well-planned, but Andy has put too many people in prison to really narrow it down.

They work out a roster for working overtime and going home to sleep, and she thanks them all and puts herself as first contact and tells them to not give up hope as she walks into her office and closes the door behind her.

And then for the first time in a long time Sharon Raydor closes her eyes and prays.


	13. Ballad

_Wow. Sorry about that last chapter guys. I guess I should have better signposted heartbreak, huh? Ooops, oh well. Here you go._

_Part two of three._

_Based on a prompt from the RaydorFlynn lj community 'Late Night Phone Call', and includes a prompt from skillwithaquill who asked for: Sharon/Andy- First 'I love you'. _

**Ballad**

The agonising hours- days in which they trace phones and interview witnesses and even release a press statement- pass by in a blur for Sharon, and the only thing she can truly recall in any great detail is Provenza's pitying look when they are told they have no good leads. Her heart feels like ice, and Rusty doesn't know what to say to her when she comes home late three nights in a row and remains silent. He is worried- of course he is, he cares about Flynn too- but he doesn't yet know that they intended to start a relationship, and she doesn't say anything about it, because what if they don't find him. What if they never find him? Not all kidnapping cases are solved. Not all murderers are traceable. How many cases are only ever put away for good once a body is found years later?

She tries to stop herself from thinking of all the crime statistics she has in her head, and all the cases that didn't end well. She tries to make herself forget all about the feeling of being in his arms, and then tries to hold the memory closer, just in case she never gets another chance to be that way again.

But then, days after he's gone, Tao revisits the ransom note, and because Andy is one of their own Taylor approves a very expensive paper analysis be conducted. It leads them to a supplier, who leads them to a man who was friends with a man Andy once put in prison. The details and science of it all confuse her a little bit, and frankly she doesn't much care, but the point is their suspect ends up being a man they had dismissed for being unlikely, and she almost loses it at that, running to the bathroom in case she really does throw up.

Andy could die, or already be dead, and all because she tossed the wrong file in the 'no' pile; wrote off a mildly deranged ex-gang banger as having no opportunity to kidnap.

They learn, upon re-examination, that at the time of his release he was in some danger of suffering a psychotic break, and she spends a good twenty minutes threatening his psychologist with every charge under the sun, and walks out feeling marginally better after that.

Provenza meets her in the hall, having watched the exchange in electronics. His stony expression tells her that he's feeling about the same as her, and that is comforting, but also terrifying. She needs him to guide her on this one, because quite frankly she has no idea anymore. Her judgement is shot, and she can only hope that her many years as an investigator will serve her well.

She's never been in this situation. This was one of the reasons she transferred so readily to IA in the first place; good promotion opportunities, and the ability to keep her work and home life separate. Her children never had to worry about her being gone at all hours, or never coming home from a case. Her paperwork was done between nine and five, and then left in the office. Her suspects were only ever cops themselves.

She's never had to stare at an empty desk and know that the life of one of their own- and his life in particular- rests in her hands, and in the decisions she makes.

The pressure shakes her very core.

It takes four solid, overworked days from the time of the kidnapping for them to find the small abandoned bike factory that Andy is being held in. They all yelp in victory, and she doesn't even try to hide her frantic run out the door, the team right on her heals.

They arrive at the scene at eight thirty at night. It doesn't feel real. All the days he's been gone, all the hours spent chasing a ghost, have come down to this rescue, and she doesn't let herself remember their kiss even once, or it might break her.

SWAT informs them that according to thermal imaging there are two people in the building, one in a submissive position to the other, and they all breathe a sigh of relief at the prospect of Andy being alive after all. Even so, Sharon walks over to the command van they set up, and demands to see the image herself. Without audio or internal visuals, it's impossible to actually identify who it is. But she'd know that gesture anywhere; that movement of his head. The fact that he gets backhanded after speaking to his captor.

"It's him" says Provenza, only loud enough for her to hear.

"It's him" she repeats, and a flood of mixed emotion unlike anything she's ever felt runs from her scalp to the base of her spine. It settles behind her eyes, and she almost sees spots; relief, anger, worry, joy- she feels it all in that moment. She's not going crazy, she hasn't lost him. She could scream, and gladly would, if she didn't have to keep herself together and command this team through his rescue.

"Captain" says Sanchez, stepping forward, already geared up and holding floor plans of the building in one hand as he adjusts his earwig with the other.

She nods at him to continue, the promise of work a convenient distraction.

"Sykes and I have devised a tactical plan. But you're not going to like it"

She takes a single moment to acknowledge the depth of his words- the sorrowful expression on his face- before she steals her spine, closes herself off, and meets his eye.

"Show me"

He nods once and leads her to the table strewn with papers, which has been set up behind the van as a portable incident base. There are a couple of black SUV's around, all protected from immediate sight by a small shed outside the warehouse and dense trees. The large mobile command centre hides many of them too. Still, she's never been more terrified of being discovered. Their kidnapper is a deranged ex-con, after all, and it's Andy in there. Andy, with his kisses and his hugs, and his cooking dinner and being mindful of Rusty, and his dancing, and his bringing her tea at all hours, Andy.

Sanchez is right. She doesn't like the plan at all. It involves putting Andy in the firing line, a coin toss on his life, trusting that the SWAT team can be quicker on the trigger than their kidnapper. Trusting that Andy doesn't try to escape in the meantime. Trusting luck, mainly.

She frowns at the plans as Sanchez is explaining them to her, and then sways side to side on the spot, her hands on her hips, her lips pursed. She gives them a good hard look, and silently asks them to be kind, these tenuous plans that get less likely to succeed the longer they wait around.  
She gives Sanchez permission to go, and once she's half way back to the command centre she allows herself to rest her head in her hand, still standing, and bites her lip, the only outward sign that her heart is breaking.

"He'd want that dirtbag taken down" says a gravelly voice from next to her shoulder.

She straightens with a watery sniff, and manages to compose herself enough to nod, and keep the tears at bay, and calm her racing heart. "I know"

They don't say anything else. She's not sure if his quiet support is his way of giving his approval to them both, but she welcomes it anyway. She once told Andy she wasn't an island, and as she possibly condemns him to death she knows she needs a friend. They make their way back to the van together, and sit side by side at the controls, two old warriors overseeing possibly the only event that would ever unite them as true friends.

They establish a phone connection, and it takes half an hour and a professional negotiator to even get the guy to stay on the line. He's definitely suffering from a psychotic episode, and doesn't that just make her feel so much better, knowing Andy's inside with a lunatic. They don't really have any intention of talking him down, but they need to stall him so Sanchez and Sykes can coordinate their teams and get to the various entrances without detection. When the kidnapper finally calls them back it is Andy's voice that flits through the speakers, and she almost weeps with joy. He sounds like crap, but decidedly alive.

Inside the van is Sharon, Provenza, the negotiator and Buzz. Everyone else is either gearing up for a major insurgent operation through the warehouse, or is co-ordinating thermal and optic connections around the property.

"Hey guys, miss me" asks Andy as his opening greeting on the phone.

She closes her eyes in relief and lowers her hands to the desk and then her head on top of her hands, just for a moment, a single silent sob escaping her. She feels Provenza's hand on her shoulder for a moment. She straightens almost immediately, telling herself to hold it together.

"Andy, oh my god, I can't tell you how good it is to hear your voice" she replies. If anybody notices the way her voice cracks, they don't say anything.

"You too. It's pretty damn good, I gotta tell ya. But, ah, you guys should know that Mr. Kovacevic here is very displease that you've found him"

He sounds a bit panicky, and she sees in her mind's eye the most ferocious gun pointed at his head, and she refuses to acknowledge that the thermal imagining screen supports her overactive imagination.

"You just sit tight" she says. She doesn't want to provoke their kidnapper, but she also wants Andy to know that they are about a minute away from storming the building, and she hopes she conveys all of that in her voice, and looks to Provenza to confirm that the tactical teams are in position.

"This is supposed to be my last phone call-"

She gasps and covers her mouth. She can't help it.

"-so, I just wanted to say, that, ah, it's been great. Really great. Provenza, make sure to feed my fish-"

"You don't have any fish" he snaps in response. They just need to stall for a minute more, but Andy can't possibly know just how close they are to a rescue, and she thinks that if she had a gun in her face she might be a bit hysterical too. It feels like a strange role reversal, him being the one in danger and her being the one to rush in and save him. She doesn't like it one bit. She now understands his look of panic all those months ago, when he'd stopped a murderer from adding her body to the count. Except she hadn't known then what she knows now; hadn't felt this kind of dread. It certainly changes things, she acknowledges. Naïve little Captain, thinking that distance would have made any difference at all.

"-tell Buzz, don't give the kid too much of a hard time" he says, and Buzz rolls his eyes, though he doesn't let his presence be known. "I know he can be a pain in the ass, but he's great once you get to know him a little better. And Provenza, you look after him too, you hear. Rusty needs a grouch like you on his side"

"I can't promise we'll get along all that well" says Provenza, refusing to play along to this verbal goodbye note.

"Well try, for me okay?"

There's a moment of silence, and they hear a voice in the background and Andy's sharp inhale. Buzz spins around, sensing their time is closing short, and throws on a set of headphones to listen in on the SWAT team's status, which is thankfully ready to go.

"So, ah, I have to go now" says Andy, fear evident in his tone, and that breaks her heart. "-but, I guess I just need to say, since I won't get another chance… Sharon-"

He pauses, and she can tell from the desperation in his voice and the depth of his breathing and the way his voice changes when he says her name; she can tell from all of those things what he's about to confess to her, and she doesn't want to hear it, so she shakes her head. "No, please don't" she whispers.

"I love you"

She sobs silently just once, a single tear escaping, but purses her lips and holds the rest back.

"I just needed you to know that"

"Andy-" she chokes, her resolve very close to crumbling.

Provenza doesn't know what to do or say, and the negotiator has no idea what's going on, and Buzz is still engrossed in the headphones. She covers her mouth, as though that will be enough to keep it all inside. That Provenza doesn't seem particularly shocked by the revelation should give her cause for thought, but all she can hear is the dead phone line now beeping in her ear. All she can feel is the crawling cold on her skin that runs down to her bones. It doesn't register with her that they're about to storm the castle.

She feels a hand on her shoulder, a light squeeze offering her silent support.

Buzz clicks at them frantically, one hand holding the headphones steady, the other thrown behind his back, and Provenza flicks the radio frequency over to the tactical teams, and they hear the cacophony of orders float through the van, and she barely notices any of it as she picks up the radio and says 'you have a go' into Sanchez's ear.

Her head snaps up when they hear a shot, and then another, and then three more, all from different angles, as shouts of 'officer down' and 'suspect down' float through the speakers. She jumps out of her chair just as Provenza is handing her a flack vest, and they are quickly out of the van and running over to the scene. Provenza is a little slower than her, but then, he doesn't run. Still, she can hear the pounding of his feet close behind her.

She rushes into the warehouse, gun drawn, surveying the scene with practice as she goes, and hearing echoes of 'clear' ring out from the various entrances. While everyone works to secure the area, she sees Andy sprawled on his back on the ground. She calls for an ambulance and registers someone repeating it into a radio, all of the SWAT personnel engrossed in checking for danger, Sykes and Sanchez with them. Quickly checking her surroundings, she rushes over to Andy, immediately noticing the bullet wound in his bicep.

"No, no, no-" she chants to herself under her breath. Her movements are calm and in control, despite her tone. In her rational mind she knows the wound itself is just superficial, or at least not life-threatening. But all she can understand is he's hurt, and the plan that she approved caused it.

That, and she loves him.

She applies pressure to the front of the wound while the other places her gun securely in its holster and then slides under his arm to check for an exit wound. Mercifully she feels one. He groans as she applies pressure to both sides, her knees sliding under his head to cradle it on her thighs.

"Wake up Andy"

He moans again and his eyelids flutter open.

"Wake up" she repeats, her tone commanding.

He jolts. "Alright, alright, I'm awake. Jesus"

He hisses when she adjusts her grip on his arm.

"You're gonna be just fine" she mutters.

"I've had worse than this" he agrees, wincing.

"That you have" she agrees, remembering another particularly distressing night which, in emotional retrospect, still shakes her nerves.

"Did you get the sonofabitch?"

"He's dead" she assures, looking at the bullet-riddled body of the bad guy lying not five feet away. "He's definitely dead. Sanchez and Sykes made sure of that"

"They're good shots, those two. Military"

"They are"

She keeps him talking despite his obvious lucidity, happy to have him conscious. Happy to have him alive. She feels a tap on her shoulder and looks up to see a paramedic leaning down next to the injured arm. She has no idea how long she's been inside the warehouse, but it can't be that long, surely? For backup crews to begin already?

"What do we have here?" asks the paramedic, her voice a calming mixture of friendliness and professionalism.

"Big baby. Got shot- thinks it grants him a few weeks off in bed"

They all grin at the gruff voice that walks out of the shadows, relieved that they can joke about the situation, even though her heart is still thundering wildly. If she doesn't laugh she knows she'll cry, so she smiles at Provenza and he nods in return. Sharon stands to let the paramedics take over, and Provenza stops walking just as he reaches her shoulder. She's sure that's no coincidence. She looks at him and smiles her thanks, but she's okay now, or at least she will be.

Andy ends up walking himself out of the warehouse after his arm is field-dressed, and she's amazed at the weight that lifts from her shoulders at the sight. If the paramedics are letting the stubborn mule walk, then he must be fine, though he stumbles fractionally when they get to a front step.

Alive, and uninjured, but not fully okay just yet.

She feels a light tug on her arm, Provenza's hand firmly around her elbow, and she allows herself to be lead outside behind Andy, and only becomes aware of what he's doing when he points her towards the tap on the outside of the building.

He turns the faucet for her, and she watches intently as Andy's blood runs off her hands and down into the gutter, fading until it's clear. She stares after it, as though it means something, but her mind is blank and her eyes are unfocused.

When her hands are clean- perhaps overly so, after she's scrubbed and scrubbed- Provenza hands her his hanky to dry them, and she mutters a 'thank you' under her breath, catching his eye. They've come to a mutual understanding, the two of them. Outside of the force there is no way they would be friends; on the job, they are stronger for being allies. It's a fair trade, she thinks.

They walk over to the ambulance where Andy is sitting on the back step, his arm being wrapped in fresh gauze, the second paramedic double-checking his pupil reaction.

"Nice, clean soft-tissue wound" says the kindly paramedic from before, continuing to wrap the arm.

The stretcher in the back of the ambulance has a black body-bag on it, ready to be taken inside to clean up the scene, and Sharon shudders.

"Good food, lots of fluids, a few days of rest, he should be fine"

Andy grunts as she tugs at the bandage, fastening the butterfly clip. She's young and pretty, and nobody would be surprised if he started flirting with her, and Sharon is mildly amazed when he doesn't. She doesn't expect him to be a different person just because they agreed to give this a shot, but she's not sorry for the happiness that floods her when he only has eyes for her.

"You'll need to go to the hospital anyway, for procedural records" says Provenza, eyeing the back of the ambulance suspiciously.

"Yeah. This is not my first rodeo, old man, thank you"

"I'll take him" says Sharon, cutting off an argument.

Nobody bothers to question her, or to ask if that's a good idea, and she's glad for that because it most decidedly is _not_ a good idea, and she doesn't need Provenza or anyone else reminding her of that.

"You're in charge here" she adds to Provenza, and he nods, frowning but accepting the way it's going to be.

When Andy is alright to go, his eyelids drooping as he comes down from his adrenaline high, she slides herself under his arm and half carries him to her car, Provenza taking his other arm to help. They muscle him into the front seat, where he only grunts and closes his eyes, and she knows he'll be asleep before they get to the hospital.

"I'll call ahead, let them know you're coming" says Provenza, and she nods her thanks and slides into the driver's side, glad for something to do.

"Call me once they're done here" she says, nodding towards the scene.

"We'll be fine, you go"

She nods again, meeting his eye, and then she turns the ignition and drives away, perhaps a little faster than is legal, but Andy's sitting next to her in a half-conscious state and she wants him seen to as quickly as possible.

The hospital ushers them inside when they arrive, a bed and the necessary scans ready to go, and she wonders just what exactly Provenza yelled down the phone line to make them so responsive so fast. As Andy is placed on a bed and wheeled behind closed doors, she is left standing almost alone, and she only realises she's being ushered down the hall when a kindly nurse, a full head shorter than herself, grabs both her arms and uses physical force.

She collapses into an uncomfortable chair in a private room she's lead to- she figures it's Andy's room, ready for him once he's back from having his head looked at- and the nurse thrusts a glass of water in her hand.

"Here honey, you look like you could use something stronger, but this will do"

"Thank you" she rasps.

She is left alone, and waits, the dread still heavy under her breastbone, anxious to see him and to know that he's okay. The night has felt like a whirlwind; the lead-up to taking the factory took a lifetime, and yet since she found him on the floor time has flown, and she barely remembers how she got here. She looks around at the stark walls of the tiny private room, and spots the bathroom door, and decides that washing up isn't such a bad idea.

Once she's scrubbed her face, meagre makeup be damned, she fishes her phone out of her pocket and spends a good half hour on the phone with Provenza, desperately craving the distraction. She updates him about Andy, telling him that he's been taken for some scans to check for concussion, and she learns that the scene clean-up is cut and dry, and she's just hanging up the phone when Andy gets wheeled into the room on his bed. He's changed into a hospital gown and has his eyes closed, but she thinks he might be fighting for consciousness out of sheer stubbornness, and so she gestures for the doctor to step outside the door and update her in the hallway.

"I'm keeping him here tonight" he starts, a young man with a handsome face, and boy if she was twenty years younger. "He's fine, for the most part, but I'd like to see he gets rehydrated and has a full night's rest. I've given him a sedative to help him sleep- that should kick in, say in about half an hour"

"Good" nods Sharon, glancing through the window of the door.

"He was lucky. I can't tell you why, but his captor didn't really do much to him. No food and little water, but with rest, he'll be fine. We've got him on fluids and vitamins, just to kick start"

"And the bullet wound?" she asks, her arms crossed under her breasts in what she hopes looks like a professional stance.

"Clean. A couple of weeks in a sling, a couple more on a desk, Captain, and he should be fine"

She breathes a sigh of relief and takes a long blink. The young doctor smiles kindly at her, giving her a moment, having no idea why this moment is so monumental to his patient, or why it's so relieving to her. How could he know, it's not like she's been doing anything but waiting for him in the middle of the night.

"Overall, I don't think you could ask for a better prognosis, given the circumstances" he says kindly, and if his gaze lingers on her a moment longer, she feels flattered but nothing else.

"Thank you" she says meaningfully. "May I-?" She gestures to the door, to the seat she was occupying earlier that she can see is now right next to his bed.

"Of course. Like I said, he'll be asleep in half an hour, but feel free to sit with him until then"

She nods again, and gives her thanks, and then swings the door quietly open and steps inside.

Andy seems to have finally succumbed to sleep, but when she lowers herself into the chair by his bedside and caressed the back of his hand gently, his eyelids flutter open.

"Hey" he says, giving the ghost of a smile.

"Hey yourself" she replies, sitting forward a bit in her chair. He flips his hand over and clutches hers, and she can see that it's a struggle for him to stay awake, so she stands, leans over him, and ghosts the fingers of her other hand over his brow. She kisses him, once, softly, unable to stop herself from re-establishing what they started all those days ago. "Rest, Andy" she whispers, squeezing his hand. "I'll be here in the morning"

He only nods, and his eyes slip closed, and she sits back into the chair and watches him finally doze off, safe and secure, one step closer to being fine.

She can't stay all night. Even if the nurses would let her, she has to pick up Rusty from Tao's home where he's been staying all night. And she has to be at the office early in the morning to wrap up the paperwork for this case after all the attention it's received. And she has to go home and take a long hot shower and wash away the last of the night for good.

Still, she stays just a few minutes more, watching his eyes still behind his lids as the sedative takes hold of him and keeps him in dreamland. She clutches his hand tightly, and even knowing he'll be okay, and knowing he can't hear her, she doesn't have the words to express to him what she feels, and so she stays silent. She needs to hold her resolve just a little bit longer; make it home and see Rusty to bed and then break down silently into her pillow when she's alone and there's nobody to witness.

She holds his knuckles to her mouth and thanks God that he's okay, and then she somehow finds the courage to leave him. She passes by the nurse's station on the way out, and when she tells them to take good care of him, the kind nurse from before only nods at her and smiles.

"We will" she says, all too knowing.

Sharon walks stiffly to her car, and calls Tao to let him know that she's dropping by to pick up Rusty- it's after midnight, but the boy refused to sleep knowing that something big was happening, so she'll take him home so he can sleep in his own bed.

Later, when she has showered every memory of the last four days off her skin, and Rusty is long asleep, and she has readied herself for bed, she slips under the covers; she curls into her pillow, and finally, finally the tears come. She sobs silently, hard body-wracking sobs that echo down to her core and shake awake her every emotion; bring to light every truth she has denied herself and every excuse she told herself.

And then she sleeps.

And when she dreams, it's of the two of them, in the hospital. She has a bruise on her back and he has a bullet hole in his arm, and they are side by side on the bed and they are laughing. They are talking and laughing and it's the most wonderful thing in the world. She holds his hand and laughs at his joke, and they are free as birds.

Their wounds mean nothing.


	14. Serenade

_I don't think I'll ever be sick of writing for this story, but just in case I get totally overcome by the new season, here's part three of three, nice and quick. Follows after Ave Maria and Ballad in the Little Light Music series. Please note, that due to assignments, updates may be a little more sporadic after this chapter._

_**Chapter rated M: warning for explicit sex scene. **_

_Based on NHas's prompts 'Andy needs Sharon's help', and 'Andy gets hurt'. _

**Serenade **

The sun has just set when she makes it back to the hospital to pick him up the following day, and she's grateful to the hot young doctor for keeping Andy overnight; his ashy skin and tired eyes look refreshed for having had a day in bed. He looks happy to be going home, but even he can't deny the good it did him to have a saline drip in his arm and a dreamless sleep.

She walks into his room almost hesitantly, as though he might detect all of the emotions she felt last night, but he only smiles. She smiles right back. She can't quite decipher his expression, but it's welcoming enough that she straightens her spine and walks up to his bedside.

"Ready to go home?" she asks, gathering his overnight bag that's next to him on the bed. He doesn't fight her on it, because he still feels the effects of his ordeal, but more so because he thinks she needs the control that taking care of him brings her. He can tell she's still trying to find her equilibrium, and he doesn't begrudge her that.

"Am I ever" he replies, sliding off the bed and grabbing hold of her arm, though he doesn't really need it. "The pretty young nurse who does the afternoon shift hooked me up with the good stuff. I might even let you try it" he drones, wagging his eyebrows.

"Oh did she" she scoffs, rolling her eyes at him with a grin.

"Sharon"

He tugs on her arm and she spins around to face him again, an expectant look on her face. She's spoken to him three times today already, updating him on the outcome of the case, and once just to hear his voice. She's not sure when he thought it was okay to always call her by her first name- probably somewhere around that moment he was facing imminent death- but the way it falls from his mouth with his east coast twang; it's just fine by her.

"Thank you" he continues, and the playfulness is replaces with a soft smile on his face. "Thanks for saving my life"

She nods, tears almost springing up at his frankness, and she purses her lips. "I guess we're even now" she replies. He gives her a single laugh; a huff of breath and a nod that tells her he thinks they're far from even, but he's willing to let it go, because this isn't the time or the place.

"Where's the kid?" he asks, as they continue walking out of the room and down the hall, his bag in her hand.

"He's at Mike's again tonight. After I, ah… _volunteered_, to make sure you got home okay, Mike offered to have him another night. Plus I was late at the office anyway, finishing up the last of the report"

He gives her a concerned look out of the corner of his eye, questioning her eagerness over paperwork.

"I wanted it done" she adds with finality, and a harshness to her tone that brings a tension to her features in its wake; he understands what she's saying. "So now it's time to take you home and see to it that you have something decent to eat and a good night's rest"

She pats his arm as they walk, her tone light, but there's a shadow in the corner of her eye giving her away, and he would like nothing better than to kiss it and make it better. So he does, stopping her in the empty hallway and kissing the space between her eye and her temple. She leans into him just a fraction, and sighs under her breath.

They drive in silence to his house, and he thinks it could be awkward, because he remembers what he confessed to her on the phone, a gun only an inch from his eyeball, and she hasn't mentioned it all day. But he also recalls every look and touch between them, and he's confident enough to put a name on it all, and that leaves him with a tingling down his spine. It makes their car ride quiet, contemplative perhaps, but not uncomfortable, and he thinks he could get used to this new breed of tension between them.

At his home she makes him a simple sandwich of salad and egg, conscious that his stomach is still getting used to solid food again. She makes herself one too, since she's been neglecting herself trying to find him, and they sit at his small table opposite one another and eat in silence. He wonders where the food came from, but then remembers that she mentioned that Provenza stole his keys and went shopping, and he's completely surprised that the contents of his cupboard is not limited to chips and steak.

There doesn't seem to be anything to say, and yet there's a lot they need to talk about, and so they focus on their food and hope the other will break first. He manages to finish the sandwich, slowly, and she eyes him from across the table and seems satisfied.

She's just putting their plates in his sink, and he's watching her from the table, when he stands and makes his way over to her. She pauses when she feels him behind her, her head tilting down to the side, watching his hand come around her to rest on her hipbone.

He turns her around with gentle pressure, and she buries her face against his chest, her hands coming up to grasp his casual shirt in firm fists. His arms come around her back, running his hands up and down, as she finally, blissfully relaxes. She breaths in his scent, her memory just not vivid enough to recreate it on her own; the smell of him needing to be experienced in person.

She hums a noise that sounds like 'oh', but could be a sigh. He knows that she's just strung out after this whole thing. He, on the other hand, needs some reaffirmation that he's alive, and he leans back enough to tilt her chin up and kiss her, hard. She moans into it, her arms coming around his body to clutch quite desperately at his shoulder blades. He feels her fingertips digging into his back, the firmness of her kiss as she reciprocates. He breaks away, and then kisses her again, and they both remember the last time they did this, less than a week ago, in her kitchen with their hearts racing and the promise of more just on the horizon. She kisses him back and moves one hand from around his back to cup around his neck, holding him there.

He is suddenly a lot warmer than he was a few minutes ago.

"I'm damn happy to be alive" he murmurs against her lips, his hands wandering the length of her back, igniting in her a need she didn't know she held deep inside her.

"Then show me how much…" she whispers, nipping lightly at his lips again, the lightest of pressures against him encouraging him towards the hallway. If he expects her to be restrained for much longer, he is pleasantly surprised. Her intention is not pushy, but it is clear, and he thinks she needs this as much as he wants it.

He kisses her back and brings his hands up to cup her cheeks. He feels a pull in the stitches in his arm, but he's had far worse, and for this he can ignore it. Plus, he'd taken some of that good stuff with dinner, and the pain should be dulled for a few hours yet.

He pulls back to look at her, and her eyes are glassy but clear; determined and swimming with everything she wants to say but can't find the words for, and so he kisses her words away and takes another step backwards. She follows.

"I'm safe" he assures her, meaningfully, wanting her to know that she can trust him- that he wouldn't do this unless he was sure it wouldn't hurt her. She only nods and whispers 'me too' before kissing him again, her eyes clenched tightly closed.

He leads her silently into his bedroom and then turns to face her, standing near the side of the bed. He runs his palms over her face, and down her sides, and she shivers under his touch and closes her eyes. She opens them just as quickly, the memory of him sprawled and bloody on the ground too vivid in her mind, and instead runs her hand down his chest.

He crooks a finger under her chin and coaxes her to look him in the eye, and once he's spent a good few second staring at her, his lips descend on hers and she hums into his kiss. She melts against him, her hands snaking around him to clutch at his hip and back.

They break their kisses, their lips still almost touching as his hands run the length of her spine.

"I can't lose you" she whispers, unemotional except for the desperate way her fingers dig into his back.

"I'm here"

"You are" she whispers, her voice tinted with relief, and something resembling awe, and it's that more than anything that prompts him to kiss her again.

He feels her pulling the back of his shirt out of his trousers, and it's almost too much to know that this is happening; skin on skin contact, an affirmation of life, a joining of two people who should have got their act together months ago.

He runs his hands up her back, under her jacket, and around her front, tracing the line of buttons on her blouse. Her hands follow the hem of his shirt around to the front of his body, untucking as she goes, and then her hands start on his top button.

They are slow and methodical, all of their attention on the buttons, and breathing, and not collapsing in a heap over what they're doing and what happened yesterday. They each lose their shoes, flicking them into various corners of the room.

He gets to the last button and runs his palms under the shoulders of her shirt, sliding it and her jacket off in one swoop. She shucks her shoulders out of them, catches them both in her hands when they slide down her arms, and neatly tosses them over the end of the bed. She is left standing in just a bra, her skirt still on, and she reaches up and helps pull his sleeves down his arms, mindful of his bullet wound. She traces the edge of his bandage with her finger tips while he's tossing his shirt behind him, and then she pulls his singlet out of his pants and gently helps pull that over his head.

She runs her hands down his chest, learning the feel of his flesh and muscle under her fingers, and then traces the long scar on his stomach with the edge of a single fingernail. He almost shudders under her touch.

"I remember this" she whispers, greeting the wound like an old friend.

He wraps his arms around her back and finds the zip of her skirt, pulling it down and pushing it over her hips so it pools at her bare feet. His hands run slowly up her back, his fingers brushing each vertebra as they pass upwards, and she shivers, reaching for his belt buckle and undoing it and his pants, pushing them down to join her skirt on the floor. They take a single step towards the bed, stepping out of their clothes on the floor.

She pulls her arms back and around her body, eyeing him with shyness as she unhooks her bra, and tosses it aside. He runs his hands up her belly slowly, savouring her body, and cups her breasts, lingering in the feel of them in his hands. His eyes never leave her body, and she blushes, but leaves him be. He leans forward, his hands smoothing over her skin, and kisses the tops of each breast, moving to kneel and continuing to kiss as he goes. With their height difference, and her hunched posture as she follows his movement, he can continue to flick his tongue around her flesh, and his hands come around her back as he holds her close to him and has his fill.

She runs her hands through his hair and throws her head back, the image of him on his knees in front of her, the feeling of his hands and tongue on her, enough to send her wild.

He kisses across her stomach and over to the waistline of her underwear, licking along the seam of the lace. She shudders as he kisses her hip bone, and then the edge of her pants again, and then pinches them and pulls them down a fraction and kisses the exposed flesh, and then pulls them down a fraction more and does it again. He hooks his thumbs into the waist and ushers the pants down her legs, kissing the length of her hip as he goes, and when they pool on the floor his hands cup her backside. He looks up at her, meeting her hooded eyes for a moment, and then he leans forward and kisses the divot where her thigh meets her pelvic bone, and then again on the other side, and then sucks on the flesh at the very top of her thigh with the intention of leaving the smallest of bruises.

Her fingers tighten in his hair and her head rolls back again, her stomach clenching in sweet agony, knowing he won't relieve her yet.

She ushers him up again, her movements just a little bit more frantic, and kisses him firmly, her hands cupping his neck under his ears. He devours her mouth and feels her hands trace over his chest and down his stomach, to hook into his boxers, and she runs her hands over his hips before pushing them down.

They don't break their kiss as they both step out of their pants on the floor, and he spins them slowly on the spot, his tongue dancing against hers, until her calves knock the bed base, and she can feel the mattress behind her thighs.

He flings the bed sheets open and lowers her back on the bed, holding himself above her by his good arm, the other resting against her body. He kisses the hollow of her neck, and then the jut of her collarbone, a long slow kiss. He kisses the other side, and her hands come up and run back and forth through his hair to spike it up and smooth it down again. She smiles at him.

He moves lower, to kiss the space directly between her breasts, and he lingers there, feeling the rhythm of her heartbeat against his lips. Her hands move down to cup his neck, not moving him along or keeping him in place, but just holding. He kisses the swell of her breast, and then her nipple, sucking it to peak, and she arches lightly underneath him, a slow burn building in her body and not just in her mind. He kisses her chest again, and then the swell of her other breast, and then sticks his tongue out and circles her other nipple, flicking lightly over it, back and forth, and she arches further, the hands on his neck tightening in pleasure, the cold night air ghosting over the wetness he leaves there.

She spreads her legs in invitation, and he shifts to rest between them, his hardness not yet at full length, but getting there, resting against her inner thigh.

He kisses her collarbone again, and then moves higher, dropping his good elbow to rest alongside her head, the hand of his injured arm clutching her hand by her side, immobile but still connected. She grips his hand tight.

He moves into her line of vision, and she opens her eyes, her breathing deep and obviously aroused. They look each other for a long minute, and he leans down and pecks her lips, once, twice, three times, before the hand on the back of his neck pulls him in and they crash together again. Her tongue sweeps his bottom lip and his does the same to her. Her mouth opens and lets him in, and their tongues meet, and he spends a good few minutes kissing her senseless, lightly rocking against her in a rhythm they can't fight.

His injured hand moves over fractionally, and his fingers dance patterns against her hip and upper thigh, feather-light. He doesn't move enough to hurt himself, but it's enough to cause a shudder to run though her, the extra sensory stimulation running across her nerves. He kisses and pecks, and runs his tongue across hers, and finally, just as he thinks he's going mad, her free hand moves. It had been by her side and has found its way to his hip, and moves across his abdomen, down lower though his hair, and grasps him lightly.

He moans low in his throat at the contact, and she replies with a whimper of her own, her legs spreading just a fraction wider as she strokes him and feels him harden just a bit more, now at his full length. She strokes him one more time, and then leads his tip to her entrance.

They both moan, and she arches her back, as he slowly slides into her, a feeling like coming home.

He holds still, allowing them both to adjust as he kisses her lips lightly and plays with her hair. He loves this moment, when two people are connected so intimately, but not moving. He loves that he's in this moment with her.

She smiles at him, a lazy contented smile, as she looks him in the eye and squeezes her inner muscles, testing. He whimpers low in the back of his throat, and then drags himself almost fully out, and then slides home again, smooth and soft. She mews at the feeling. Her hand caresses his neck.

It's been quite a while for both of them, though longer for her, and the pleasure of being touched- by him in particular- could bring tears to her eyes. It just feels so damn good, and she arches her back into the stroke as he pulls back again and slides into her, a little harder this time.

He kisses her, long and slow, as he repeats the motion, hitting just a little deeper.

She moans loudly, her head thrown back, and he kisses her neck.

He kisses her again, and then she moves her hands to his shoulders and lightly encourages him to roll over, mindful of his injured arm as he falls on his good shoulder and rolls her on top of him, remaining seated deep inside her.

They grin at each other as they adjust to the new position, and she leans down and plants a kiss on his lips, and then his chest, her hands running into his hair. His good hand runs the length of her side, from her hip bone, across her ribs, and up to cup her breast, kneading it in his hand, two fingers tweaking her nipple. She moans, and leans up a little bit, stroking up and then down, rocking her hips into his. His injured arm rests alongside his body, his hand coming to clasp around her thigh.

He puts pressure against her chest with the hand on her breast, causing her to sit up higher, her hands on his chest, her hips moving slow and steady, a calm rhythm. They're in no rush, and they know they're too tired to keep this up all night, so they savour it and let it wash over them.

She sits right back on her knees, still moving, though she knows her knees won't like this position for long. Even so, it's worth it to see his eyes roaming her body, from her hair all the way down to her arms, her breasts, her belly, and down to where they join, him slowly sliding in and out of her.

His hand follows the path his eyes take, pausing to tweak her nipple, caress her stomach, brush the pad of his finger over her bundle of nerves and grin as a shudder runs through her at the contact.

"Beautiful" he whispers.

She whimpers and her eyes fall shut. She strokes up and then down once more, before falling forward again, her hands either side of his head. She lowers herself until her lips can brush his, and she stays a mere inch away, sharing his breath, opening her eyes to find him watching her closely. His hand runs the length of her back again, down over her backside, and back up to thread his fingers in her hair, pulling her down into a searing kiss.

She strokes a little bit harder, a touch faster, picking up their pace.

The feeling coursing through him changes from a slow burn to a crawling heat, a sweat breaking out over his skin. She must be the same, because she meets his thrusts, and moans low in her throat, lolling her head back.

His hand moves down her back again to her hips, holding her close around her lower back and pulling her into him with each upward thrust. Her breaths come out in pants, and she gives herself over to that pleasure and threads her hands into his hair again, holding him as close as she can. They rock together, faster and harder, and he hits deep inside her and makes her whimper. She clenches her muscles in return and it makes him groan.

She leans in and kisses him again, but it's getting too much to maintain, so she keep her fingers buried in his hair and surrenders to the feeling.

When he feels himself getting closer, climbing higher, he traces his finger around to her stomach, then lower, and slides his palm over the hairs there to plant the pad of his finger on her nerves. She moans, loud and long at the contact, and shudders, and he circles his finger in time to his deep thrusts. Her breaths get shorter, shallower, and she makes small whimpering noises as he works her harder. He can feel her getting closer, and her thrusts become sharper and more erratic against him, and he kisses her again when he feels she's getting close.

She shatters above him, a heat like white spreading through her, up and down her spine and to the tips of every finger, then down to her toes. She moans out loud, deep, and throws her head back, her mouth open, her eyes closed. She thrusts into her climax and his fingers move her though it, and then he stills, his own completion overtaking him. The sight of her on top of him, all around him, the sounds she makes and knowing he did that to her; he flies apart in a flash of heat, with a groan like her name in his throat.

When he comes back to his senses her forehead is resting in the juncture between his shoulder and chest, her body on top of him, both of them panting. He runs his hand across her back and her fingers tense in his hair but don't move.

She raises her head, her breathing still deep, her eyes clouded in pleasure and fatigue, a lazy smile on her face. She meets his eye, and her smile turns into a grin that looks downright wicked.

"That was…"

"Incredible'' he finishes for her, stroking her back again, grinning.

"Oh yeah"

She nods at him, and then leans down and kisses him hard. He smiles into the kiss and she does too, and it's perfect. They stay there kissing for a long while, grinning madly at each other as they explore each other's bodies in the afterglow, and she feels completely secure in the way his hands admire every bump and curve they can comfortably find. If he wanted younger, slimmer, fitter, he certainly had his pick long before she came along. She doesn't doubt herself, or him, and after such good sex, why would she. She feels positively glowy.

After a while he rolls them onto their sides, sliding out of her in the process, and she squirms at the unexpected feeling after being so used to being connected. He rolls back to settle on his back, and drags her into his side in the process, loath to let her go even for a moment. They both pull the sheets up around their bodies at the night air cools the sweat on their skin. She traces a finger over his brow, and his nose, and then caresses his lips with the pad of her thumb, and he kisses it softly. She smiles, and leans in for a kiss.

She tucks herself into his side and kisses his chest, and he ignores the pull of his injured arm as he brings it up to hold her hand flat to his chest, his other arm under her neck and snaking around her, his fingers tracing patterns on her back.

"Nobody at work can know about this" she says lowly, her head on his chest. "Even if Provenza already does, nobody else…"

"Secret. Got it" he mumbles, focused instead on the feeling of lingering in his blissful haze.

"I mean it Andy- no-one" she says, flattening her palm on his chest and almost patting it for emphasis.

"I heard you" he says a little louder. "My lips are sealed. Not a word"

She nods, seemingly content with that answer, and settles her head back on his chest, running her fingertips over the hairs there, grinning to herself as her eyes slip closed.

"What're you smiling at?" he mumbles at her, his own eyes closed though he can feel her smile all the same.

"How absurd we both are" she says primly, her amused tone and clipped words clashing with the soft feel of her body half wrapped around him and the smile on her face.

"For banging with a bullet wound in my arm?"

"For _banging_ at all" she replies, and the mirth in her voice makes him huff in amusement. He kisses the top of her head, opening his eyes to contemplate her, a misplaced yet fearful thought flitting through his mind.

"Do you regret it?" he asks softly.

Her brow furrows as her eyes open, and she takes a single moment to consider his question.

"No" she drawls airily, a minor revelation. "I don't"

His arms tighten fractionally around her, and he kisses her hair again. "Me neither" he whispers.

She hums, an expressive little noise full of all the happiness she feels at that admission and all the contentment she feels in this moment. He shifts fractionally, straightening his injured arm next to him for comfort, and she ghosts her fingertips over his bandage before settling herself deeper into the sheets and his embrace, a contemplative little look on her face. He squeezes her again in askance.

"Andy?"

"Mmm?"

"I love you too" she says softly, weighted and yet the easiest thing the world to admit to him.  
He grins, his eyes still closed, the tightening of his fingertips against her back the only outward sign that her words affect him.

"I figured" he replies cockily.

She scoffs at him, taken by surprise at his nonchalant tone, and buries her head further against his chest with a grin. He feels her shake her head against him.

"Okay Han Solo" she says through a yawn, patting his chest, and he won't ask how she made that connection. "Sleep now. You wore me out- I'm not a young woman anymore"

"Yeah. Me neither"

"Hmm you'll have to tell me about it sometime" she mumbles, letting sleep slowly take her.

"About what?"

"The time you were a young woman"

He groans at her joke and rolls his eyes to ceiling, and she giggles sleepily beside him.

"_I'm_ supposed to tell the Dad jokes"

"And let you have all the fun? I don't think so"

He kisses her head again, running his hand over her back as her breathing gets deeper and heavier.

"Sleep now. We'll both be here in the morning"

She only hums in response before she succumbs to sleep entirely, and he just smiles, allowing the full reality of this past week wash over him. A near-death rescue, a damn good screw, and finally winning the girl; this is only supposed to happen in the movies. More than that, he's not supposed to be so god damn elated that he's in bed with the boss.

Sleep pulls him away, and he lets it, and decides that doubts and second guesses can wait for morning. This moment is too good to waste.

This love might just have a chance after all.

_Okay, so, I don't write smut very often, but I'm not gonna lie, this chapter was purely about gratuitous sex scenes. Sorry I'm not sorry._


	15. Adagio

_I should be writing essays. Pfft, homework, what homework. In case anyone was wondering, I was listening to BTSK by Ms Mr while writing that last chapter. I don't know if that sheds any light, or gives the chapter a different feel, but there you go._

_Inspired by/ written in response to a prompt from NHas__**: '**__Rusty goes/is sent to Andy for advice, Sharon thanks him'. Adagio: at ease; i.e., play slowly. _

**Adagio**

"Just so we're clear on this, I'm a nervous wreck"

"I hadn't noticed" he fires back, rolling his eyes at her.

They're sitting on her couch, about to inform Rusty of their very illicit and incredibly new relationship, and she feels like throwing up. His hand is on her knee, lightly, almost friendly, because she's been jittery about it all day and he doesn't want to push her. He honestly thinks the kid knows more than he lets on anyway, because it's been a week since the rescue and she's been with Andy an awful lot, either at work or not. But she's still terrified that this will shatter the tenuous balance they've struck, though she had promised to let Rusty know of new developments and she refuses to go back on her word.

"Sharon, calm down. The kid will get over it; we just have to show him that it's not going to affect him"

"I promised I'd give him thirty days' notice if something was going to change for him. This is not thirty days"

"Life doesn't work to a damn calendar" he snaps, their conversation cut short by the sound of a key in the door.

Her head whips around and then back to Andy for a brief second, and then back to the door just as it opens and Rusty steps through. He stops half way into the room, eyeing them both suspiciously, and nobody speaks for a tense moment. Andy thinks she's honestly frozen in place, and he'd find the whole thing hilarious if he wasn't troubled by Miss Control herself completely losing it.

"If you two are going to, like, lecture me on not telling anyone about you, or something, don't bother- I know"

And with a roll of his eyes and a petulant sneer he turns around, his backpack on his shoulder, and stalks down the hall. Sharon blinks after him, completely at a loss for what to say. Andy pats her knee once and hoists himself off the couch.

"I'll talk to him" he mutters.

She's focusing so intently on the hallway that she barely notices Andy is not beside her until she sees him disappear into Rusty's room. The boy had left the door open, his silent signal that he doesn't mind interruptions, and so she reasons that he must not be truly upset, but she has no idea what to make of his nonchalance, or the fact that he didn't scream bloody murder and slam a few doors. Blinking slowly, she rises from the couch and pads silently down the hall, stopping just before the doorway when she overhears Andy's voice. It feels rather clandestine, but she thinks it's good for them to develop a relationship without her as a mediator, so she stays quiet and blatantly eavesdrops on their conversation.

"I don't care about that" she hears Rusty say. "I just don't know why she didn't tell me sooner is all"

"Rusty, we were just figuring things out ourselves. You gotta understand, we only got together this week"

"Please. No details, please"

"No details, I promise. But all these months I've been hanging out here- you have to know that nothing happened then"

There's a pause, and she imagines a look on Rusty's face, and she desperately wants to join the conversation, but she doesn't.

"Really. I'm not messing with you"

"So what, it took you getting shot for you guys to admit you had feelings for each other?"

She almost laughs at the incredulous tone of his voice, and brings her knuckles up to rest against her mouth. It must seem rather ridiculous to anybody not caught in the emotional shit-storm that has been their courting.

"Pretty much"

"Well that's just dumb"

"Tell me about it"

"Especially since practically everyone could tell anyway"

There's another pause, and she wonders how the resident smartarse will handle this one.

"Sharon, you gonna hang out there all night, or are you gonna help me here?"

She starts, and mentally calls touché, and then rounds the door with a guilty expression on her face, almost a grin but mostly just sheepish. She comes to sit on Rusty's bed next to him, a respectable distance from his legs. Andy is sitting in the chair under the window, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees.

"You don't have to explain anything, you know. I do know what sex is" says Rusty.

She blushes furiously, looking to Andy for help, and she doesn't miss the smirk on Rusty's face at her discomfort.

"Rusty, I didn't want to go back on my word-"

"What word?" he asks.

He genuinely looks a bit confused, and she wonders if maybe her own relationships were not really his concern when he made her promise to keep him in the loop. She figures that as a homeless sixteen year old, his greatest concerns must have been getting a hot meal and having a safe place to sleep, and not having to sleep with older men to afford it. Part of her tension melts away and she is thankful that he is being so mature about this. She loves him like a son, and she doesn't want that relationship to be damaged just because she has Andy now too.

"I promised to give you plenty of notice if something was going to change for you, and in this instance, that wasn't possible, and I'm sorry"

"Sharon" sighs Rusty, sitting up straighter as though he's about to give her the lecture, and she almost grins at that. "What's going to change for me here? I mean really. You two already spend plenty of time together. And it's not like Andy needs my bed"

She blushes again at that, and looks down, her hair covering her face, and she sees out of the corner of her eye Andy lean back and cover his eyes with his hand in exasperation. Rusty looks far too smug.

"The way I see it, it's kinda none of my business"

She reaches out her hand and grasps his where it rests on the bed, meeting his eye, her expression serious enough that he knows she's not going to let him brush this away. Being thoughtful, or considerate, or accommodating may or may not be the way he dealt with his mother's relationships, but he is her family now. She is determined to make sure he knows that.

"It does affect you, and it is your business, and I want you to know that your place here won't change one bit. Do you hear me?"

Rusty's look turns sheepish, in that way it does when he's blatantly reminded that she won't back down from protecting him, ever. He nods, gently, keeping eye contact and feeling something like security roll through him. The passion in her words- the way that her voice hitches just-so when she talks about protecting him and loving him- makes him feel wanted in a way that he's not used to. He hasn't been very good at showing her just how grateful he is to her for giving him that gift, but he treasures it, and his acceptance of her happiness is his own way of trying to say thank you.

"I know" he answers. He thinks he must look serious enough, because she accepts it without making him repeat it. She nods, and squeezes his hand, and goes to stand, moving towards the door.

"But if I ever hear you two having sex I will call child services for abuse"

She just about dies. She stagers on the spot, having no clue how to respond to that, though laughing, crying and running all seem like reasonable answers. From the chair she hears a full-bodied laugh, and turns to see Andy leaning back, holding his hand to his mouth as a fit of giggles take over, and he's almost crying with laughter. Eyeing him, then Rusty, then Andy again, she spins on her heals and walks away, mortified, heading straight for the wine bottle that is open in her fridge.

Andy stands and walks to Rusty's bedside, clapping him on the shoulder as one last peel of laughter rings out. Rusty looks half embarrassed for his comment, half proud, and Andy squeezes his shoulder in silent support.

"Hey Flynn?"

"Yeah kid?"

"Just out of curiosity, if Cynthia does find out about you two, what would happen?"

Andy's eyes soften, and he perches himself on the side of the bed, hearing the vulnerability in Rusty's voice, and perhaps a hint of genuine fear.

"It probably wouldn't be good" he admits, nodding his head to the side in recognition.

"Why? I mean, what does it matter, if you're not living here?"

"Well, child services wouldn't be the ones who had the problem with it, so much as our bosses. See, I could be put down as one of your other carers, which I wouldn't do anyway since like you say, I don't live here. But the thing is, if child services found out you had another adult in your constant company, they'd be compelled to run a background and safety checks, and put it on your file"

"Like the file they put together on Daniel?" he clarifies.

"Right. Now, they probably wouldn't care, since I have a history of being in contact with you anyway-"

"I don't see Cynthia caring. She knows you guys pretty well"

"Yeah, she does. But if she was going to put me down as another contact, work would undoubtedly find out about it-"

"And you two being together is supposed to be a secret" Rusty finishes, nodding in acknowledgement, all of the pieces falling together as he realises that the very people who can't know about their relationship are the people who would have to be informed if one of their detectives was being put down as a foster care contact.

"What's so bad about you two being together anyway?" he asks. If Andy's not mistaken Rusty sounds a bit offended that the rules are so prohibiting, and he smiles a little bit, because he knows that feeling.

"That's just the rules. Plus, it doesn't look good, the boss and her detective having an affair. It's not just about the rules that are written down, you know? There's expectations; standards. It sucks, but there you have it"

Andy looks to the hands in his lap, and doesn't notice the fierce look of protectiveness that crosses Rusty's face at the thought of his two pseudo parents having their lives ruined because someone couldn't keep their mouths shut.

"You can trust me" he says, determination and pride colouring the way he sits a little straighter. Andy looks up at him and smiles again at the maturity he sees in the boy.

"I know I can, kid. I never doubted you"

Rusty nods at him, his chest deflating a little in humility. He sits back in to his pillows, the both of them silent for a moment, and they think of all the missed opportunities in their lives to have father-son moments like this one, and it brings an air of bittersweet. Andy leans forward, his elbows on his knees again, looking at the wall ahead, but not really seeing. They are comfortable for a moment being quiet, until Rusty speaks.

"Don't hurt her… okay?"

Andy looks at him quickly. His tone is both timid and protective, his brow furrowed just enough that Andy knows it'll come to blows if the boy thinks it will do any good. Andy doesn't doubt that either, and he smiles reassuringly, a quirk of his lips, and a small nod.

"I'll do my best" he promises.

"You better"

Patting his leg, Andy stands and slips his hands into his pocket, looking down at Rusty with a contemplative look on his face, still slightly sceptical.

"You're really okay with this?"

Rusty shrugs. "I don't see that I have much choice" he says lightly, stating a fact. "Plus, since you two became a thing she's been less on my back- it's been kind of nice, actually" His face turns just a little more serious, his eyes focusing on the doorway for a moment. "And honestly, she doesn't have… I mean, it's kinda just the two of us, here, which is great- really great, and I love it, don't get me wrong… but it's nice to see her happy. She deserves to be happy"

If he didn't think it would make Rusty completely uncomfortable, Andy would hug him, long and hard, and maybe kiss him on the forehead. The pride he feels in that moment can't be quantified, so he just steps forward and holds out his hand. Rusty looks up at him, confused for a moment, and looks down at the hand, before clasping it hesitantly. It's less of a shake and more of a squeeze, but they look each other in the eye and come to a silent understanding.

"You're a great kid, Rusty. Don't let anybody ever tell you otherwise"

Seeing Andy almost choked up with emotion makes Rusty entirely sheepish, and he has nowhere to run since they're already in his room. But Andy notices, and so affords him some privacy, stepping back and putting his hand in his pocket again. "Thank you" he says, and he really means it.

Rusty just nods and picks up the book on his nightstand, giving Andy the opportunity to walk out of the room. He does, and pads down the hallway, letting out a breath as he hangs his head and makes his way to the kitchen. He rounds the corner and sees Sharon leaning against the bench on the kitchen side of the island, a nervous look on her face and a glass of white wine in her hand.

"How'd you go?" she asks.

Andy just shrugs with a smile as he steps up to her, placing one hand around her hip and his lips on her hairline, half kissing her there. She leans into him, her eyes closing for just a moment in contentment, and they both can't believe that they're actually allowed to do this now, after so many months of restraint.

"He's fine" answers Andy. "He promises to keep it secret, and I really don't think he cares, to be honest"

She sighs with relief, and he feels her relax under his hand.

"He's offended about the rules though" he adds, and she huffs. "And he made me promise not to hurt you"

He pulls back and looks at her, seeing her wide grin at his last comment. She's half flattered, half amused, but once again he just sees pride. They are both lucky to have each other, he thinks, the boy and her. He smiles at her when she meets his eye, and she leans into him again, letting her eyes slip shut as he brings his other arm up to circle her. He hears the clink of the glass as she places it gently on the bench top, and then her arms come around his waist and they stand like that for a long moment, just holding each other. It feels like the hardest obstacles to overcome in starting this relationship are almost over, and they are finally free to just enjoy being in each other's orbit, no longer circling, but colliding together in the best possible way.

"Did you want to stay?" she asks quietly into his chest.

"I'd love that" he replies. "But I don't have a change of clothes, and I have that deposition to take down first thing in the morning"

She hums in response, understanding, if a little disappointed.

"Plus, give the kid more than one night to get used to the idea of closed-door sleepovers"

She snorts into him and whacks his hip lightly in reproach. "You're terrible"

He chuckles a little bit at how genuinely adorable she is in her close interpersonal relationships. If someone had asked him what she was like when he first knew her, he'd have probably given them a few choice words. When he learned she was married with children, a fleeting thought in his mind was that it was probably for money or convenience, and it had to be an immaculate conception, because the thought that the wicked witch was capable of enough intimacy for marriage and parenthood seemed preposterous.

Now he could slap himself. Now that he's seen her capacity for kindness, and her willingness to go above and beyond, usually using those rules she loves so much as a weapon instead of a shield; now that he's been on the receiving end of her love; he can't believe he thought anything less.

Then again, he does work with her daily, and to see her two sides- her diametrically opposite persona between work and home- is an equally fascinating facet of her. There's a certain privilege in being let in close enough to see it. He cherishes that.

"I love you" he mumbles into her hair.

"I love you too" she whispers.

Neither of them is shy with expressing their feelings. He thinks it might be a product of age- of knowing exactly what they want and how they feel, in a way that the youthful often are not. But it never fails to hit a nerve when he hears that she loves him right back. He always acknowledged that he was the more desperate of the two of them, and that if either of them was going to crack, it would be the hothead and not the calm Captain. But he underestimated the depth of her feelings, even after getting those glimpses; even now that the playing field has been definitively levelled. It still takes him a little bit by surprise to hear her be so blatant about how she sees him or the place he holds in her heart, and in her life. It never fails to put a smile on his face. But then, he notices that she smiles too, when they exchange sentiment and love, and so he thinks he might not be alone in his surprise.

"I should go. I've got an early start in the morning" he says quietly.

She nods against him and slowly pulls back, tilting her chin up in silent request for a kiss, and he is happy to oblige.

"Ugh, really?"

They break quickly, both in mild shock. Rusty walks around to the kitchen, pulling the fridge door open with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

"I was just leaving" says Andy, rubbing his hands up and down Sharon's arms as he takes half a step back, his eyes on Rusty's back. The boy stands up straight with a soda can in his hand, turning to face them again with a softer expression on his face, the teasing gone. He almost seems a little bit timid, and Andy imagines he's not quite sure how to react to a relationship that takes him into account; that sees him as important too.

"Oh. You, um… you don't have to" he stutters, not quite meeting their eyes, shuffling on the spot, moving back around towards the lounge. Andy follows, grinning at Sharon over his shoulder, and he can see she's smiling too, an amused little grin.

"It's okay kid" says Andy, throwing his hand in his pocket to check he has his keys as he makes his way to the door. "You don't have to worry about any horizontal mambos tonight"

"Andy" shrieks Sharon, her eyes wide as he just chuckles at their outraged expressions. He winks at her playfully, enjoying the self-conscious look on her face, and the way she crosses her arms at him.

"I think I'm going to be sick" says Rusty, taking another step towards his room with the soda can in hand. Andy just chuckles again, stepping up to the door and grabbing hold of the handle. Sharon walks up to him, ever the gracious host no matter how unbelievably he behaves. She shakes her head and gives him a reproachful look that he completely ignores.

"Goodnight" he says, loud enough for them both to hear.

"See ya Flynn" says Rusty, disappearing down the hall again.

"I'll see you tomorrow" he says quietly to Sharon, now level with him at the door. He pulls the handle and opens it with a grin, seeing she's still mad at him for the last comment.

"Goodnight Andy" she says with a roll of her eye.

He can see the smirk that she's trying to hide, though, and so he leans in a steals a kiss, and is rewarded when she kisses him back a little bit, brief as it is. He just smirks at her again, before stepping through the door like an excitable child. She holds the door open in his wake, watching him step into the corridor.

"Sweet dreams, sweetness" he calls with a wink and a swagger. She doesn't answer him, just waves him off with a haughty flick of her wrist and an eyeroll, and she hears his laughter echo down the hall as she closes the door behind him. She shakes her head, leaning for a moment against the door, trying very hard to not find him as adorable as she does. She pushes herself away and into the kitchen to collect her forgotten glass of wine, and then makes her way to Rusty's room. She hasn't talked to him much since he got home, and she still wants to hear all about his day.

His door is ajar, though pushed almost completely closed, so she raps her knuckle on it twice and peaks through the gap. He's reclined against his pillows, his laptop on his legs and the soda can open on his bedside table.

"Hey" she says, stepping inside with a soft smile.

"Are you two always going to be so… touchy-feely? Because _that_ I have a problem with"

She huffs in amusement as she perches on the side of his bed, patting his leg with the hand not holding her glass. "We'll try to keep PDA to a minimum around you, promise"

"I wasn't kidding about the sex noises, you know. I will tell on you"

She can see that despite his joking tone he really is quite grossed out. It intrigues her that he's usually so blasé and casual about sex, and yet in this case he seems so awkward. She thinks he is perhaps not used to equating sex with emotion- that between his mother's relationships and his own homeless summer he'd come to view sex as just a commodity, or a means to an end. She thinks this might be the first relationship he's seen up close that had love long before a physical connection, and perhaps he doesn't know how to respond to that.

"Rusty, I promise I will do my best not to scar you for life" she says, patting his leg again with a smirk, sipping her wine.

She doesn't add that she did have partners when her children were smaller and living with her, fleeting as the relationships were, and that the kids never once heard a thing. She doesn't tell him that she knows what she's doing, because that really is crossing a line. They're both of an age that she really doesn't think mentioning masturbation is in any way beneficial to their continued existence under the same roof. The very thought has her internally shaking her head, momentarily unable to meet his eye. Instead she keeps all that to herself and makes a mental note to keep it quiet if ever Andy stays at her place instead of her going over to his.

"Now tell me" she says, chipper and focused on him again. "How was your night? Where did you go for dinner?"

And for a few happy minutes the conversation shifts to Rusty's great evening out with a few friends after Chess Club. He mentions a girl, and the way he downplays her importance tells her that he has a crush, and she hides her smile. He tells her they had pizza, and stopped by a game parlour, and he kicked everyone's butts at a shooting game she's never heard of, and he seems so happy and animated. She tries not to get too emotional with Rusty, but she can't help but notice how he's flourished and grown since she first knew him. She listens to him complain that he can't get his licence yet like his friends, and she reminds him that she is not the only over-protective parent in L.A. They both share a smile at that, though he is restless to get out in the world on his own terms. She jokingly tells him not to grow up too fast, and despite the irony of that statement, part of her really means it.

Her life is good, she reflects, as she walks out of his room a little while later. She is in a good place, despite the ongoing secrecy of her relationship. She has Andy, finally, and she has a wonderful pseudo-son in Rusty, and she has finally settled down as head of Major Crimes. She knows what she's doing, for the first time in a long time.

She walks to the kitchen and puts the wine glass in the sink to be hand-washed later, when she can be bothered, and then she walks to her room, intent on slipping into bed for a nice long hour with a good book and this feeling of contentment that has settled in her chest. As she's changing into her pyjamas (because she wears full pyjamas again since Rusty has come to live with her) she lights a scented candle on her dresser, just for kicks, because she can.

Perched in her comfortable bed, in her favourite sleepwear, with her book, her glasses perched on her nose, she really has no complaints. It could really only get better if Andy was lying next to her, complaining that she wasn't paying him enough attention.

But then, if Andy was lying in bed with her, she doesn't think she'd be all that interested in the book anyway.


	16. Dolce

_I'm trying to be cool about the season premiere. It's not working. Anyway, I'm still working furiously on assignments, but this baby was half done and begged to be completed, so here you go. Inspired by a prompt from myfriendcaptsharon who said: 'Sharon/Andy: Playing dirty', and includes a prompt from themagicm who said: 'Sharon loses something dear/important to her and Andy is there to help. It can be an object or a person or anything else you can come up with'. _

_As we get more canon to play with, this story may or may not change, but for now let's assume it's an AU set between season 1 and 2. _

_As always, I hope you enjoy. _

**Dolce**

She cracks one eye open, offended by the bright light that is streaming directly through the crack in the blinds and onto her face. Rarely has she slept in this late, even on the weekend, but after last night she's damn worn out. Closing her eyes again and inhaling through the first stretch of the day, she hears his soft snores behind her and grins into her pillow. He still won't admit that he does that.

They've been doing this- whatever this is, because they haven't made promises but they do regularly say 'I love you'- for about a month now, and so far it's been surprisingly easy. Keeping the secret at work was not the challenge she anticipated, what with constant death being an effective distraction, and there's never any tension when they come home to one another at the end of the day. She's not sure what she expected, back when she was in complete denial about her feelings, but it wasn't this.

Provenza has yet to make comment about what he overheard at the stake-out, or the fact that he insisted they pull their heads out of their asses and they obviously have; she thinks his silence must be his own form of approval, but then perhaps he's just waiting for an opportunity to catch them off guard. Still, she thinks there's enough trust between the three of them for that to not be the case. If he does notice that it's starting to affect their performance of the job, or their judgement, she trusts that he would not hesitate to say something. In fact she's counting on it. She has no idea anymore.

Even Rusty, for all his insecurities about belonging and being wanted, has been surprisingly welcoming towards the relationship. He never seems put out to see Andy in their space, and affords them time alone, which surprises her, because she honestly expected him to act as chaperone and sit between them on the couch and all the rest. But the three of them have found their own little balance between friendship and family, and she likes to think that she and Andy are giving Rusty what he's never had before.

She doesn't usually stay at his place, but when Rusty is at a friend's house she always takes the opportunity, because she likes the thrill of stepping out of her realm and going to see him. When he sleeps at her place it's always discrete, and he's usually out of the house and off to work before she can rouse Rusty out of bed anyway, so there's never been much opportunity to linger around and become awkward with one another.

But this morning it's a Saturday, and as far as she can tell from the sun that is still stubbornly in her face, it is mid-morning, and they have yet to catch a case, and she thinks this might just be their first lazy morning together.

She stretches, a moan catching in her throat as she rolls over, and his snoring has stopped and his breathing is becoming deeper. She settles on her pillow to watch him wake; he says it's a creepy habit of hers, but he's just so damn cute she can't bring herself to stop.

"I can feel you staring" he mumbles, a few minutes later, his voice croaky with sleep.

She smiles softly and leans over him to plant a quick, soft kiss on his lips. He doesn't quite return it in his semi-conscious state but that's okay, because they apparently have all morning, and he kissed her plenty last night.

"Good morning" she whispers, right next to his ear.

He hums, low in his still-croaky throat, his hand finding her thigh under the blankets even as his eyes stay closed. His fingertips caress her skin, sensually but not to arouse. She spots his bullet-wound scar on his arm, just under her chin, and ducks her head to kiss it lightly. She rests her chin on his shoulder as he quirks his eyebrow and finally cracks one eye open in her direction.

"Agh" he yelps, squinting it shut again.

"Your blinds don't close properly. You might want to fix that" she drawls. Her fingertips trace his chest as he brings his other hand up to shelter his eyes. He blinks a few times, adjusting to the light, and then looks her in the eye and grins.

"Hi" he says.

"Hi yourself' she replies with a little smirk that is anything but innocent.

The hand on her thigh flattens and squeezes just a little as he shifts his head to give her a proper morning kiss. It's a closed-mouth kiss, because as much as she loves his tongue she is conscious of morning breath, but it's sweet just the same.

"What time is it?" he asks.

She rolls back a little to look over her shoulder, and then turns back to face him, her head propped on her hand, her elbow digging into her pillow. "Just after ten" she answers, noticing that he's not paying much attention to the time anymore.

Her movements have caused the sheet to shift down a bit, allowing access to (though not fully exposing) her breasts, and she watches with open amusement as the hand that is not on her thigh snakes over his chest and comically lifts the edge of the sheet just a fraction more. His head is at just the right angle to cop an eyeful.

"Are you alright there?" she asks, making no move to stop him, obviously not offended by his one-track mind.

"I'm fine" he replies. "Just enjoying the morning" he adds, letting the sheet fall below her breasts and leaning over to kiss them. She giggles (which she notices she does a lot with him, and that's a bit disarming) and lies flat on her back as he continues to playfully nip at her skin. She runs her fingers through his hair as he stops his antics and rests his chin on her breastbone, lying on his stomach, looking up at her. "And what a lovely morning it is" he finishes with a grin.

She smiles down at him softly, one hand running over his back and shoulders, the other spiking up his hair as she runs it from front to back. He kisses her breastbone once more, and then rests his chin there again, as content to linger as she is, and she wonders how many people have seen this side of him. She doesn't care that he's been a bit of a womaniser, or that he's enjoyed a very active sex life (in fact, if anything it has served their relationship very well indeed). But she wonders just how many women have been able to see him like this- playful, and sweet, and completely smitten, happy to linger in bed with his hands running smoothly up and down her sides, and a warm grin on his face, like he has every intention of spending the whole day in this very moment.

She thinks it must not be many.

"Sleep well?" she asks with a smirk.

"Like the dead" he counters, and by the look on his face they are thinking the exact same thing.

"Me too"

"Worked up a bit of an appetite though" he adds.

"Hmm, I know what you mean"

On cue her stomach gurgles under his chest, loud and obnoxious in the quiet air around them. He can't help himself, breaking out in a fit of laughter as he plants his forehead on her stomach, and she joins in, throwing one arm over her eyes in mild embarrassment.

"Breakfast?" he asks, still smiling widely at her as he pushes himself up and then leans back on his haunches into a kneel.

"Oh yes please" she answers.

She holds out her hands and he helps hoist her into a sitting position, her legs stretched out next to where he's kneeling on the bed. Her lips find his immediately, the sheet sliding completely down to gather in her lap as he runs his hands up into her unruly hair and holds her to the kiss. They break with smiles, her hands on his sides.

"Can I just say, I could get used to this" he says.

She hums, and grins at him, and then slides her feet over the side of the bed because she really is hungry. She finds his shirt and her underwear, and she won't deny that she deliberately wears them- and only them- just to tease him. She's always had a thing for wearing her lover's shirts, and apparently he has a thing for seeing her wear his shirts, and so she thinks to herself, why deny either of them the pleasure. She swaggers from the room, openly grinning at the leery look he gives her, and leaves him to find something to put on. She's just gathering the milk out of the fridge when he rounds the hallway door wearing sweatpants and a tee-shirt. He walks straight up to her, her bum still hanging out of the fridge as she searches for the mangos on a lower shelf. He slides his hands up the back of her thighs and around to her stomach, pressing himself along her back as he splays his hands on her flesh and buries his nose in the back of her neck.

She gasps a little bit at the sudden and intimate contact. He was never one for playing fair. Then again, she thinks it was partially her fault, sauntering around in her underwear thinking she could get away with it.

"Have I told you I have a thing for your legs wearing nothing but the tails of my shirt?" he whispers in her ear. She grins, fruit successfully in hand, and stands straight, causing the back of the shirt to once again fall down over her bum as she spins in the circle of his arms.

"You might have mentioned it, yes"

She pecks him on the lips once, lightly, before ducking out of his arms and over to the kitchen bench. He smiles after her, shaking his head at her blatant and frankly unfair flirting. Since becoming intimate, he has learned that she is far from shy in bed and enjoys a good flirt as much as the next woman. He wonders how he never saw this playfulness before, and thinks the observation might have got lost somewhere between hating her and pretending not to love her.

He gathers the eggs from the fridge in her wake, and steps up beside her again, depositing them on the bench next to the stove. He knows she loves fried eggs on toast for breakfast, though she'd never admit it, because she always eats so well and works hard to stay in good shape. Still, he has caught her enough times making breakfast, and so he only pushes the eggs closer to her in silent encouragement to indulge.

"I'll go grab the papers" he says, stepping back as she expertly lights the stove and flicks the button on the kettle for her tea.

"How domestic" she teases over her shoulder.

He quickly pads outside and collects the newspaper, opening it as he walks into the kitchen again just as she's cracking an egg into the pan.

It is positively homely, he thinks, as he leaves the papers on the bench and walks over to finish making her tea and his coffee. It's almost sickening, really, given they don't even live together and their relationship is barely a month old. He steals a corner of the egg white from the pan that has already cooked, and she slaps his hand away in light reproach.

"If you want one, just tell me and I'll make you one" she says.

"Nah, I'm good. I'll stick to the fruit"

"You sure?"

He just hums, and then walks to the cupboard and gets the cereal, and then to the fridge again to get the yoghurt. She puts two pieces of toast in the toaster, and he cuts the mangos onto a plate, leaving it in the centre of the bench.

She serves up her eggs on toast, and he takes the second piece of toast and settles on a bench stool with his cereal bowl and his coffee. She chooses to stand on the opposite side of the bench, balanced on one foot as she picks up a piece of mango and slips it into her mouth. He watches, curious but innocent enough, content to just enjoy the fact of them. She moans around her mouthful, nodding her head.

"I love mango season" she croons, picking up a second piece.

He just grins again, and unfolds the paper, and then folds it back on itself to read. She collects some cutlery and enthusiastically munches on her breakfast as he absently eats his cereal and holds the paper in his other hand. She spins the second paper around, flicking through it absently between mouthfuls. They are both quiet, comfortable enough to linger in the sounds of morning, reading their papers and eating their breakfasts. It's not that they take this time for granted; it's that it has been so long since domesticity was a reality for either of them that this is as novel as anything else they do together. He likes how easy she is in his space, and how comfortable he feels to sit with her in silence. He likes that she seems the same.

"So what did you have planned for this lovely morning?" he asks, just as he's finishing the last mouthful of his toast. She looks up from the paper with a small smile.

"I don't know. I hadn't thought that far ahead"

He grins at her, his eyes playful. She just smirks, and stands up straight, collecting their finished plates and taking them to the sink, popping the last piece of fruit in her mouth as she goes. He turns back to his paper, and is just turning the page as she goes to walk past him when he snakes a hand out and catches her hip. He tilts his head up as she stops next to him. With a grin and a roll of her eyes she leans in and indulges him with a kiss, and then disappears into the bedroom to get dressed. He hears the running of the shower in the ensuite, and knows that she won't wash her hair, so gives himself only a couple of minutes to read the last of the paper. He hears the water shut off, finishes the paragraph he's reading, though he isn't really paying it much attention, and then follows her. She usually takes enough time getting ready to make herself presentable, but not half a day, and so he's surprised when he walks in and she's only in her underwear and bra; he was expecting her to be at least half dressed.

She's bent at the waist, her knees bent too, looking around the edges of the base of his dresser and under the chair just next to it, one hand absently holding her ear, her glasses perched on her nose.

"What're you doing?"

"I've lost… an earring..." she replies distractedly, moving to look under the edge of the bed. "I know I took it off last night and put it on the dresser"

He watches her for a moment, amused at the sight of her with her ass in the air, dressed only in her underwear, looking around under his bed. After appreciating the view for just a second, he kneels down and looks further under the bed, snaking a hand out to pat the carpet, hoping to feel the spikes of the diamond. He doesn't doubt they're real either, as he eyeballs the one safely in her other ear.

"They were my grandmothers'" she says, and though she doesn't seem particularly distressed, he knows they must mean a great deal to her. "My mother will kill me if she finds out I lost one"

"I'm going to have to meet this mother of yours one day" he says softly with mirth, recalling the few stories she has let slip about her elegant but eccentric parents.

"One day you just might" she fires back, and he ignores the smirk he knows is directed at his back. He continues his search under the bed, patting the carpet lightly.

"Ah-ha" he cries.

She spins around, straightening, and he stands up with the prize pinched between two fingers, grinning madly at himself, handing her the lost item.

"My hero" she mumbles at him, her eyes fixed on the earring as she takes it from him and slips it on. "How can I ever repay you?"

He leers at her half-naked form, waggling an eyebrow. "I can think of a few ways"

She only grins, and gives him a single kiss, before moving towards the neat pile of clothes she's gathered for herself. She had packed a bag to come over, and he watches appreciatively as she slides her legs into jeans, and throws a casual cream sweater over the top, the material thick enough to not clearly show the outline of her bra. He moves past her, touching her hip as he goes, and a moment later she hears the shower running. She walks to the door once her shoes are on and her jewellery in place, and leans against the doorframe, watching as Andy runs the soap suds out of his hair. The water flicks off his elbow against the glass wall of the shower, and she watches it run, her eyes unfocused.

"I was thinking we could have lunch out" he calls over the spray, wiping his eyes and turning under the water to face her.

"We just had breakfast" she answers, smirking at him, meeting his look.

"We could do something first. Go for a walk. Maybe down to the beach"

"Andy…"

She's still hesitant to be out in public with him, big as the city is, because she fears they'll run into someone they know, or worse, someone from work. She revels in this relationship, but is always aware that it's a secret, and a wave of sadness follows the realisation that until they don't care about that, they can't be a couple everywhere they go.

It's these trains of thought that have made weekends just that much harder.

"I know, I know" he says with a casual wave of his hand. He's been nothing but understanding about it all, because he doesn't want to be thrown out on his ass any more than he wants to see her publically humiliated. "But it's just walking. And hey, I won't even hold your hand, how's that?"

She smirks at him as he's running the soap over his body, a little grin on his face and a hopeful glint in his eye.

"Alright" she says. "A walk and some lunch"

"Beach?"

"Why not. It's been a while. And I wouldn't mind going to the shops too"

"Don't tell me you need a new pair of shoes" he says, rolling his eyes at the memory of her extensive and very expensive shoe collection. She only smirks.

"No shoes" she promises. She swings out of the doorway and over to the counter to pick up the few toiletries she brought with her, packing them in their little bag. She hears him brushing his teeth in the shower behind her just as she's picking up her own toothbrush. With a pause, and a single contemplative look, she firmly deposits it in the toothbrush holder on his basin; the one that he never seem to use himself. The one that has a half-used toothpaste tube and nothing else. The clang of her toothbrush echoes loud in her ear, and she knows that this small thing is not insignificant. They have yet to make these gestures; so far it's been all about words, and just finding time to be together outside of work. They have yet to do anything that suggests that this thing between them is in any way permanent.

She doesn't bother turning around to see if he's smiling; she can feel it against her back; in her bones. A light tingle runs up her spine. She likes the feeling.


	17. Amoroso

_This story follows immediately after the last, though can stand alone and is therefore its own entity._

_This chapter features a prompt from NHas: 'Sharon & Andy go for a walk'_

_I've been to L.A twice, the most recent about six months ago. Rarely will I use place-names, just because I don't want to be too inaccurate, but any location I use I've pulled from personal experience, so if you're a local and you notice something is off, please let me know. I'm in Melbourne; it's not like I can pop over and prove you wrong ;) _

_As always, I hope you like what you read, and please let me know how I'm going. I appreciate every word I get._

**Amoroso**

"It's that charity ball thing this week"

They're walking along Venice Beach, not holding hands, but eating ice creams and just enjoying the flurry of characters they're encountering. He has been meaning to bring it up, but keeps forgetting, and frankly it's uncomfortable to remind them both of the last conversation they had before his kidnapping a month ago. Nobody's mentioned the ball since, though he thinks it might just be a topic of conversation on Monday morning.

"I know. I've already organised for Rusty stay at a friends' for the evening" she says, licking her finger where some ice cream has dripped. He was thoroughly surprised when she had pointed to the stand and given him an expectant look, but couldn't pass up the opportunity, and the sun is just warm enough to warrant a late-morning ice cream.

"So you're still going?" he asks, his mouth full.

"Of course" she chirps. He thinks she sounds rather excited. "I wouldn't pass up an opportunity to see you all dressed up" she adds, smirking at his face.

"Who says I'm going?" he counters, though he's completely joking, and she can tell.

"You will"

"Oh really?"

"Because you won't miss a chance to see me all dressed up either" she replies, and the grin on her face and glint in her eye makes him want to pull her to him in the middle of the boardwalk and kiss her stupid. He doesn't, of course; instead he takes a big bite of ice cream so she doesn't see how she affects him.

"Cocky shit" he mumbles at her, earns him a deep and honest laugh from her, her head thrown back in the sun.

He points at shops and street performers as they go, resisting all the while the urge to grab hold of her hand and claim her. But he knows that will just make her paranoid about being seen, so it's far more relaxed and intimate for them to just walk side by side, occasionally tapping each other on the arm as they talk or observe, strolling past the people and avoiding the odd bike that isn't using the bike path.

Two hours have passed before they know it, and they stop at a small café on the way back to the car to have some lunch. She laughs at him over her salad, and he chews eagerly into his veggie burger; some all-vegan creation that sounded far too fancy on paper, but turned out to be quite nice, just like she said it would, and he has to admit that being with a cultured woman such herself has been somewhat educating. They talk about Rusty, who always manages to make his way into their casual conversation, and about some of the more light-hearted rumours at work, though nothing that would land them in trouble. He knows a little more that she does, and he shares it with her, because he knows how it hurts her to still not be completely accepted; to have the reputation of FID and suspicion follow her like a bad smell. She's proving herself to be an amazing leader for Major Crimes, but old habits are hard to break. He likes the way she leans in and props her chin on her hand when he tells her something juicy, her attention on his words, and a grin on her face as he lets slip who has been banging whom and for how long; all little things that didn't quite cross her old desk but that are worth knowing anyway. It reminds him of high school a bit, though he'd never tell her that.

At one point she tells him a funny story about her sister, and he makes a mental note to later sit down with her and go through her family tree, just so he knows what he's dealing with. Her sister sounds like a nut, but then every story about her family has seemed dynamic, and he can't quite reconcile the fancy skiing Christmases with the summer camping holidays that involved leaches and a broken tire swing. He thinks that meeting these people is going to be one of the most terrifying yet educational experiences. He might even return her the favour, if his ex-wife ever lets him introduce her to the kids; if they're ever public enough about their relationship to do the family thing.

Another hour manages to fly by while they eat, and when they finally make it back to the car she insists on driving, which he finds cute, if a bit confusing. They find themselves at a mall half way between the beach and her home; a big, white thing with multiple levels and a food court and Target at one end, and he finally understands her desire to take the wheel. She had mentioned shopping, but he'd completely forgotten. They duck in to a department store get him some new underwear, which is not nearly as embarrassing as he expected given how often she divests him of them, and then he is all hers as they browse the shops around the centre. He is pleasantly surprised to discover that she is not a crazy every-single-shelf-of-every-single-store kind of shopper. His ex-wife had been one of those, and his opinions on shopping has been tainted ever since, the outside benches becoming his best friends as she spent hours going through every store from top to bottom. But with Sharon it's a quick look, an easy decision; she tries a few things on when he insists he wants to see it on her just for fun, but otherwise doesn't torture him. Truthfully, the little black dress he'd thrust into her hands had been worth the five minutes it had taken her to get the right size. He has no problems carrying it in the bag for her either, knowing he'll get to rip it off her body at some point.

They're just walking out of a designer fashion store featuring prices he doesn't even want to consider, when they hear a voice sound behind them.

"Captain Raydor"

There's a moment where they both freeze, and without looking at each other they turn around and face Russell Taylor, a single shopping bag in his hand and a confused expression on his face.

"And Lieutenant Flynn" he adds, obviously surprised by her company once he has them facing him.

"Taylor" he says.

"Hello Chief. What a pleasant surprise"

Her voice is silky smooth, without a hint of irony, though Andy knows for a fact she must feel it. She smiles at Taylor, politely but with distance; the perfect combination to not arouse suspicion.

"Didn't expect to see you here" says Taylor, obviously trying to assess what he's stumbled over.

"Just doing some shopping" says Andy, holding up the bag in his hand. It's a thick plastic bag, branded and not see-through, so Taylor can't know that the contents are Sharon's, and Andy is grateful for that. Explaining away a friendly catch-up at a shopping mall for lunch and coffee is one thing, but the fact that he's carrying her shopping might just bring more scrutiny than they need.

"Andy very graciously offered to keep me company today since Rusty is at a friend's house this weekend" she says, casual enough to not arouse suspicion, friendly enough to suggest that she's happy to be out with him on the weekend. He admires her ability to make nothing out of the situation; to make Taylor believe they are just out as friends and co-workers, enjoying each other's company. He's impressed by her ability to give none of her emotion away as she talks about him as though he's not standing by her side.

"And you decided to spend your afternoon shopping?" he asks. His tone is friendly enough, but there's an edge to his voice, and a suspicion in his eye, and they can't tell if he's teasing or cataloguing them.

"Not my idea, that's for sure" says Andy.

Sharon just grins good-naturedly at him, as though to convey that she's somehow roped him into helping her pick up some things. The suspicion leaves Taylor's face, but he still sizes them up. There is a fleeting moment where Andy thinks they're actually caught, but it's gone quickly, and they exchange pleasantries as they move in opposite directions.

"You two enjoy your afternoon. And I'll see you Monday" he says, almost as a parting shot, and they both cover up their discomfort and move quickly away, almost a foot between them as they walk just in case he's watching them go.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me" mutters Andy, rolling his eyes.

"Of all the people…" she adds. She nods as he points to a coffee shop that's free-standing in the middle of the mall, and they make their way over. They find a seat and a young waitress walks over to them, halting their conversation for a moment. They order coffee and ask to see a menu, just for kicks, though it's been a while since lunch and Andy wouldn't mind something to snack on. They keep an eye out for Taylor as they're perusing the menus, but he seems to have disappeared in the opposite direction, and they don't really think he'd be petty enough to hang around and spy on them. They order quickly, and then settle back into their seats, picking up the conversation again.

"I feel like that was a cruel karmic trick" she mutters, sipping from her water glass as they wait for their tea and coffee.

"How do you mean?" he asks. He'd ordered a couple of sweet biscuits as well, and knows he'll end up sharing them with her, so he made sure to order one she would like.

"I mean, the one time we decide to go out and have a day, just the two of us, and we run into the boss. You can't tell me there wasn't an element of fate in that"

He smirks at her; at the fact that the practical and rule-abiding Captain is obviously so frazzled by Taylor's appearance that she's willing to blame it on some universal intervention. Still, it does seem pretty outrageous, in a city as big as L.A, and so he only nods, and shrugs a little.

"You know what they say about Murphy's Law"

"Murphy can kiss my ass" she mutters back.

He almost sprays water all over the table, but since she said that loud enough for only him to hear, he'd make a fool of himself. She notices his amusement, and smirks at his subdued reaction.

"You're a bad influence on me" she adds, grinning. She doesn't swear often, but it's always effective when she does, and he can't deny that he likes it a little bit.

"Me? You're the one who wants to get frisky with Murphy"

"There's only one person I'm interested in getting frisky with. What pisses me off is that we can't even enjoy one innocent day out without being rudely reminded why this is a terrible idea"

They're voices are low, and the café is almost empty anyway, except for a couple of people several tables away. They aren't worried about being overheard, and so the conversation can be as candid as they like, but there's still a lingering sense of being watched. Taylor has put them both on edge, which is a shame, he thinks, after the relaxing day they've had.

"We knew that would be the case when we agreed to give this a shot" he reminds her lightly.

He leans back as the waitress arrives with their drinks and his biscuits. He looks at the girl with a hint of flirt and thanks her, and she smiles sweetly and moves off, and Sharon can only watch the whole exchange with mirth. She ends up stealing the very biscuit he had deliberately ordered for her, and she makes no apologies and he makes no comment. It's the little things between them- the easy ways they have with each other- which he loves so much.

"I knew what I was getting into" she responds with a nod, stirring a single sugar into her tea. "I knew what this was going to be like. I won't say it's not hard…"

"All I wanted to do when we were walking was hold your hand" he admits quietly, focussing on breaking his own biscuit in half, mostly for something to do. He takes a sip of his coffee.

"I know. Me too. And I don't want to lose this, Andy. Really. But I think this has been a very good reminder to be careful"

"We are careful. Overly careful. We barely go out in public together at all" he says.

"I know that. And I know that we haven't had many opportunities to have days like today, and I've loved every minute, really"

"But?"

"No buts" she says in reassurance. "I'm not going to give up just because we ran into Taylor once at a shopping mall. I'm just saying, we do have to be cautious"

"Okay. I can do that. I have no problem staying indoors with you, if that would make you feel better"

She rolls her eyes at his flirty look, and ignores the waggle of his eyebrows as she thinks of all the many ways they could kill entire days inside. Possibly naked. In fact, probably naked. She smirks right back at him, and takes a long sip of her tea.

"What time do we have to get the kid?" he asks, changing the subject now that they've sorted that out, at least for the moment.

"In just under an hour. He'll have dinner at home, he said- his friend has to go out with family tonight"

"Well, we'll finish up here and then head over and grab him"

"My car is still at your place" she reminds him.

"So come over to mine for dinner. I'll cook you guys something, we can all watch a movie or something, then you can head home later"

She takes a minute to think about it, and then decides that it would be nice for her and Rusty to be at his home for a change, instead of Andy always coming over to theirs. And it's not like Taylor will be hiding in the street to catch them out. "Sounds good" she says, sipping her tea.

She takes out her phone and has a quick texting conversation with Rusty, confirming that he'll be ready for pick up shortly. They finish their drinks and biscuits in easy silence, happy to regain the ease of earlier. He knows that days like this one will be rare for them either way- their jobs keep them busy, and Rusty is always her main priority. He knows that they have to be just that bit more careful, not only because they might run into the likes of Taylor, but because the stakes are so much higher for them. Major Crimes is elite, and its detectives are always under scrutiny, never more than now, after a reshuffle of the organisation and a divisive new boss. The last thing he wants is to jeopardise all that she's achieved, for herself and for other women in the job. He thinks she must know that about him, given the trust she has shown and how comfortable she's been with spending time with him outside of work.

"So what do I call you?" he asks a short time later, slipping the receipt into his pocket as they're gathering their things to go. Running into Taylor may have made them more wary, but it also has him thinking about the nature of their relationship. He'd like to at least throw the thought out there, whether they resolve it today or not.

"What do you mean?" she asks. They turn towards the carpark elevators, bags in hand, and she pushes the button as he asks his next question.

"Well, are you my girlfriend, my partner, my lover, what?"

She snorts in amusement, and then wrinkles her nose, shaking her head as she weighs each option, confused that he's bringing this up but willing to play along. "I haven't been someone's girlfriend since high school-" she starts, pressing the carpark button when they step inside the elevator.

"So lover then?" he says, grinning.

"It just sounds so… criminal; lover. Like we're doing something wrong"

"Well, technically you are a married woman" he teases, knowing she won't take it the wrong way; knowing where he stands in relation to her marriage. They've never really talked about it, and he's not sure that he's comfortable going there yet, but he respects that she has a husband, and he tries to remember each detail she gives him about that relationship so that he doesn't over-step. He figures she has her reasons for still being married, and she's entitled to keep those to herself until she's ready to tell him. She hasn't mentioned his ex-wives either, so he guesses that's a serious conversation for another time.

"I would hardly call this an illicit affair" she says. "Although, I suppose on paper it could look that way" she concedes. "Married woman, your boss, secret relationship, nobody at work can know, always balancing real life commitments with our undying love"

He chuckles at her teasing, shaking his head, liking this playful side of her. She grins at him, swaggering out of the lift as the doors open to the carpark, her tongue between her teeth, walking backwards as he follows.

"So 'partner' then?" he says.

She hums in thought, her brow furrowing as she thinks it over. "But that doesn't really fit either" she says, turning to him with a considering look. They walk through the carpark slowly, content to linger.

"We don't live together" he acknowledges.

"We're not public" she adds.

"We don't share money or assets or any of that"

"Plus 'partner' just reminds me of work" she says, a fleeting thought of Andy and Provenza being house husbands together in some strange domestic co-habitation arrangement enough to have her stifling the giggles.

"Okay, so, not partner then"

They reach his car and he unlocks the doors, both of them depositing their bags in the back seat. They slide into the front seats, him driving this time.

"Why can't we just… be?" she says lightly.

He starts the engine and they slip their belts on.

"So you can be my permanent, emotionally attached hook-up companion" he says, grinning.

"My interdependent sexual liaison" she counters, bursting into deep giggles at the ridiculousness of that. He half laughs, half groans, slipping the car into gear and reversing out of the parking space.

"How romantic" he says, still balanced between amusement and disgust, and she pats his shoulder, careful not to bump him as he's changing gear. She tells him where Rusty's friend lives, and he points the car towards the right exit.

"So no labels" he says, once they're on the street.

"No. And if anybody asks, you're my beau" she says with a grin.

"And you're my sweetheart" he adds.

They both laugh at each other. It feels like high school again, trying to find the right balance between sickeningly sweet (which he honestly feels and would never admit to) and age-appropriateness, which also seems difficult given the circumstances of their relationship. He doesn't tell her that there are many labels that he'd be happy to adopt, because this is still new and tenuous. He thinks one day he'll have the courage to tell her though.

She lets out another peel of giggles a few seconds later. "I feel like that song from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" she laughs, thumping her head back against the headrest.

"Which one?"

"The coochy-woochy itchy-coo one. With the king and queen"

"God, I haven't seen that movie in so long" he says, shaking his head with a smile.

"Mmm-hmm"

They fall into easy silence, Sharon giving the occasional direction, to which replies with 'yes dear', or 'okay schnookums', and she tells him to stop it with a grin but doesn't really mean it. Truthfully, it's liberating to be so silly in a relationship; it's been a long time since she's allowed herself the luxury. Her marriage had been like this, in the early years, and she misses it; the teasing and flirting and laughter, in between amazing sex and bedroom eyes. She usually dislikes overly sentimental pet names, though she does use some herself, but if Andy wants to call her stupid nicknames, she thinks she wouldn't mind. Just so long as they can stay exactly like this, he can call her anything he wants.


	18. Pas De Deux

_Sorry for the huge delay. Unfortunately no uni means more work. I promise I'll get better at updating- the next few chapters have already half-written themselves._

_I said earlier that this story was an AU set between season 1 and 2. In the interest of keeping it relevant, and somewhat in line with overall canon, the next chapters will start to lead into the plot of season 2. There's some juicy stuff to work with so far, and I'd love to try and navigate it all with my Sharon/Andy goggles on. _

_As usual, I wish you all happy reading, and please let me know what you think. _

**Pas De Deux**

The soft music can barely be heard over the mull of voices, and Provenza makes himself at home as he swaggers up to the bar and orders himself another drink. Dinner is over, and speeches have just finished, and the dancing will begin soon, so there's time enough to just relax and enjoy. All things considered, it's been a lovely night.

Standing against the bar, perusing the room, he can't help but let his eyes fall on a certain couple standing across the way, talking to each other like nobody else exists. There's nothing particularly obvious about them; they're standing a reasonable distance apart, they aren't touching, she isn't laying her hand on his shoulder, and he isn't whispering into her ear. They look as casual as can be. But he has watched these two dance around each other for over a year, and longer before that; watched them go from allies, to friends, to something more, and then a brief period where they couldn't stand to be in the same room lest the tension get too much. He was there when truths finally came out, and has seen the easy way they've moved around each other since. He knows what has happened, even if they've been on their best behaviour; even if nobody else so much as suspects a kiss since Andy's big rescue. But still, he knows.

So he watches them, standing across the room, their squad interrupting their conversation to form another, bigger group, and he can't help but smile just a little. Just enough. He can't say why they work, but it's obvious that they do, and he's happy for them, because they've managed to keep themselves professional despite the love between them, and he knows that's no mean feat.

He's knocked out of his reverie when he notices a figure lean on the bar next to him, and he casually draws his eyes away to look at a certain Assistant Chief.

"Something I can do for you?"

Taylor only smiles, though it could almost be a sneer, and gestures to the barman to come and refill his drink with the same. He turns and leans against the bar, eyeing the group of people across the room, and Provenza narrows his eyes and waits for the other shoe to drop.

"Tell me something" starts Taylor. "Is there anything... I should know..."

His hand waves a little as his eyes never leave them, and Provenza makes a big show out of being confused, though Taylor doesn't buy for a minute that he doesn't know who he's talking about.

"I don't know what you mean" he says with a shrug.

"It's just, since his kidnapping they've been awfully cooperative with each other. FID are starting to get suspicious that he's up to something"

"They're a good team, Chief. We all are, now that... certain grudges have been put away"

Provenza is being casual enough, and his words do ring true for their squad. But Taylor must be looking for a certain answer, because he squints suspiciously and looks from the group back to the man he's talking to; squares him up and assesses him.

"I'm going to be honest here, and I'd like for you to listen" he says, quietly so as to not arouse suspicion, turning and facing the bar for the pretence of privacy. "I don't much care about personal feelings and the relationships of my people. It's not my problem, and frankly I have better things to do with my time. What _is _my problem, among other things, is keeping the press happy, keeping the department running with our limited budget…" He pauses for effect. "…and insuring there are no scandals that would tip the very delicate balance we have struck. That's my job. And I'm going to say this only once, Lieutenant, so listen..."

Provenza looks up at him, serious and a little bit worried, because Taylor and he have rarely seen eye to eye, and the man rubs him the wrong way on the best of days, but the look on his face is serious, and his tone is almost sympathetic. Provenza doesn't know what to make of that.

"If there is anything- and I mean anything- going on that would affect either your squad's ability to work together, or your ability to remain objective, it has to stop, and I mean today. Is that clear?"

"Crystal clear Chief" he says. He takes on those words and keeps them for another day. He's not sure if Taylor has noticed the relationship specifically, or if he thinks he's pre-empting one, but either way his warning feels dangerous, and a little bit ominous. "And if I see anything I'll be sure to let you know. Until then..."

He tips his head politely, dismissing himself as he collects his drink off the bar and saunters over to his people. He tries to look casual, and thinks he mainly succeeds, but there's a warning bell in his head and he can't quite figure out why, because he's seen office romances come and go like the wind; he's good at judging these things. This one seems as innocent as they come, as far as he can tell, and Taylor has been given no good reason to suspect something. It almost sounds like he's preparing them for an oncoming storm, and that's a little bit frightening, because the thought that Taylor is pulling them out of the fire before the spark has even flown is foreign; sits uncomfortably with Provenza. He wonders what could possibly happen.

"Provenza" calls Andy as he approaches. "I was just telling them about the time with the thermos and the cat collar, you remember?"

"Not that I want to, but yes" he grouses good-naturedly, and decides that their subtly can be rewarded tonight- he'll take on Taylor's warning and keep it to himself. He'll only bring it up if he notices something is wrong, because he really has become fond of this little affair, and he doesn't know why, but he'd like to protect it if he can.

The music suddenly changes, and the lights dim fractionally, and suddenly they hear a very loud speaker pumping Billy Jean as a whole slew of people cheer and fill the dance floor. Provenza, Tao, Andy and Sharon all groan and roll their eyes with a smile, having all been of a slightly older era; having watched this music come and go. But Sykes and Sanchez both just grin, before they're swaggering over to the crowd in time to the music, laughing and dancing, and pulling out all the cheesy eighties moves. The crowd is a mix of ages, and Sharon barks out laughter when Sanchez tries the sprinkler, and then the shopping trolley, and it gets a laugh out of Amy, and he looks pleased with himself. Andy grins at them, and then at the woman by his side, enjoying seeing her in this light. It's refreshing.

"You wanna dance?" he asks in her ear, only really loud enough for her to hear.

She smiles. "I'll wait until it's slowed down a little I think. Let the children have their fun"

Provenza hears her comment and just chuckles, nodding his head and taking a sip of drink, his other hand in his pocket, his eyes scanning the crowd.

"I should probably go home" says Tao a moment later, checking his watch. "I promised Kevin I wouldn't be all night- we had plans"

"Are you sure?" asks Sharon, loath to let the group disperse so soon. Buzz left just after dinner, giving some vague reference to a date or a prior arrangement or something she couldn't quite hear. The night is still young, and it's a Friday night, and she'd love to see everyone just chill out and enjoy themselves. Of course, that could also be the champagne talking.

"Yeah, I better go. There's still time to catch a movie" he says. She only nods with an understanding expression. Making time for her children is one reason why she spent so long being hated in her career; she can't fault him for calling it an early night.

They bid their farewells, and then the three of them stand and watch the dancing. Andy notices Sharon's hips swaying just slightly, unable to restrain herself, and he smirks but says nothing, sipping on his drink. Provenza has a little frown on his face, and looks like there's something on his mind, but he doesn't offer information and Andy isn't in the mood to pry it out of him tonight, so he lets him be and ignores his mood.

"I haven't seen your favourite person here tonight" says Sharon to Andy, turning to him and grinning over her glass as she takes a sip.

"Yeah Flynn. Where is miss psycho tonight?" asks Provenza, shaking out of his reverie and joining the conversation, downing the last of his drink and putting it on a passing tray, nodding at the waiter.

"Maybe she was sick" says Sharon with a shrug.

"Or sharpening her knives" counters Provenza, practically cackling at both the idea and the look Andy gives him.

"Maybe she poisoned your soup" says Sharon, still grinning, half hiding her face behind her champagne flute to stop the giggles.

"Well then you're screwed too Miss Oh-That-Looks-Delicious-Can-I-Just-Have-A-Little-T aste" says Andy, giving her wide, sarcastic eyes and a shake of his head.

"It was worth it- that soup was delicious"

"So why didn't you get your own?" asks Provenza, offended at the very notion of having to share food, much less with the boss.

"Are you kidding? It was either fit in three courses, or fit in this dress. Can't have both"

Both men just snort, and shake their heads at her, and give each other looks that speak to how ridiculous they find her. She just shrugs, her head high, almost haughty except for the smirk at the corner of her mouth. Her dress is gorgeous, and she has no problem showing it off, but there is a limit to how much she is willing to shove in her mouth before she's too uncomfortable to walk, much less drink or dance. And she fully intendeds to have Andy take her around the dance floor later, once they stop playing ABBA so damn loud, and when the music allows them to sway close without comments from watchful eyes. She likes this floor-filler music just fine, and remembers countless living room boogies with her daughter, and with girlfriends in crowded dorms before that. But in her pretty dress and with a couple of flutes of bubbly in her stomach she wants her pas de deux with the dashing man beside her.

They talk for a while, conversation easy and relaxed, and she places her hand on their arms when she laughs, and neither of them feels put out, so they just laugh with her. Maybe it's because of their respective ages- the fact that they are the seasoned officers of the group, and have a shared sensibility because of their years- or maybe it's just a camaraderie developing between the three of them of its own volition. Maybe, she thinks, the two men just like her enough to accept her into their inner circle, and that thought sends a thrill running through her. Mostly, though she thinks this triplicate has been a product of a very emotional year, and so she doesn't hold back in letting them both know that she's thankful they are her allies.

Provenza excuses himself a few songs later to go to the bar with Sykes and Sanchez when they break their dancing. He gives Andy a warning look out of the corner of his eye, and Sharon notices it but says nothing, instead giving Andy a look of her own.

"Taylor- earlier" he says, downing the last of his drink and putting the glass on the nearest table to be collected later.

"What about Taylor?" she asks, turning to face him squarely, a small frown between her eyes and in the corner of her mouth.

"No, I just saw Provenza talking to him earlier at the bar. He looked all serious, and then gestured to our little group and then walked off. I just wouldn't mind betting he said something"

"You think it's serious?" she asks, walking at his direction closer to the back of the room where it's quieter and slightly less crowded. His hand rests at the small of her back, and the gesture is so familiar she barely notices it, but she does, and she hopes Andy realises that he's doing it. What else might they have missed?

"I think if we really had a problem we would have been told" he says, serious but seemingly unconcerned. "I also think it's safe to assume the eyes are on us from upstairs, especially with all the media after our last case"

She nods thoughtfully, not overly worried, but cautious enough. He's right of course- if Provenza had something to discuss, they would have soon heard about it. That he's keeping quiet means the threat wasn't serious, or perhaps wasn't a threat at all. Taylor wouldn't be one to cut off the nose to spite the face; he knows that Major Crimes is functioning well under the new system, and that their performance is reflecting well on him. She feels confident that he won't jeopardise that unless it becomes clear that he has to, and so far she and Andy have been the pinnacle of professional restraint. Even so, her mind whirls.

"Talk to him?" she asks. "The next time you two scurry off for coffee?"

"First, I don't scurry anywhere"

She grins, and he nudges her with his elbow.

"But I will, first chance I get. Just see what Taylor had to say and why he's saying it now"

"You don't think it has anything to do with running into us the other day do you?" she asks, frowning as she thinks over their conduct in front of him at the shops.

"I don't think so. You'd have been called in for a meeting on Monday morning if it was that"

She only nods, sipping the last of her champagne. She nods her head in time to the beat, content to leave it be for the moment, Andy's hand finding its way to the small of her back and resting there, warm and heavy. It feels grounding.

The song changes, and the lights dim further, and a soft eighties ballad floats out of the speakers as the various couples in the room partner up and make their way to the dance floor. The evening's host makes a quick announcement that the slow dances have begun, and Sharon smiles as she watches Sykes deny Sanchez a dance at the bar, a grin on her face and a tease in her eye. The two of them have become good friends, she's noticed, and she's glad Amy has settled in and found a place, just as Sharon did before her.

She feels Andy's hand flex against her back. She turns and places her glass on the table behind them, and then turns to face him, her eyes positively twinkling and matching the knowing smirk on his face.

"Care to dance?" she asks, barely above a whisper.

"I thought you'd never ask" he says, moving his hand and holding out his elbow to escort her to the dance floor.

"Just remember, waist not ass" she mocks, giving him a stern look, reminding them both of that night so long ago when they first danced in her living room. He only grins and shakes his head at her teasing. Anything else he wants to say is not appropriate for eavesdropping, but she knows he'll get her back later, and that's promise enough.

He takes her hand and spins her into him, the move familiar enough, though they haven't made a habit out of dancing in her living room or anything so sentimental. There hasn't been time, but she thinks it might be fun to make time, and so the only other occasions that they've found themselves like this was that first dance that night, and the evening they first kissed, undercover at a ball and disguised as spouses. She has missed this feeling, of swaying in his arms, and if they weren't surrounded by half of the LAPD she would lean her head on his chest, wrap her arms around his neck and refuse to let him go. She has had a few drinks, but she's sober enough to stay a respectable distance away, following his slow lead as he looks at her like she's the only one in the room. It is so damn hard not to kiss him senseless, and for a moment she wonders just how shocked people would be if she did.

Looking around she spots Provenza at the bar, eyeing them with a look she can't decipher, and she thinks it's probably best if she just dances with Andy like they're colleagues and nothing more.

In keeping with the style of the night, the music remains cheesy and nostalgic; a selection of songs from a bygone era, though the pace is slow and the mood fun. She allows Andy to lead her around for a few songs, and when he whispers in her ear how much he loves her dress but can't wait to see her out of it, she lets him lead her off the dance floor again. The young ones will stay all night, drinking and laughing and eventually staggering home. Provenza, she thinks, will see out one more drink and then call it a night. She and Andy walk over and say their goodbyes, not caring that they're seen leaving together, because it's innocent enough and Provenza is the only one who gives them the eye. It's fairly late, and she knows that Andy has a very specific activity in mind, and she's thankful that tomorrow is Saturday.

"Just hope we don't catch a murder" says Provenza in parting, a conspiratorial smirk on his face, and she could almost blush, but she's just a little too tipsy to care.

"Good thing you're on call tonight" she fires back with a smirk. He only laughs at her, and waves them away with a flick of his wrist and a shake of his head.

They walk side by side, not touching, and when they reach the front door he helps her into her jacket and she lets his hand linger on her back as he escorts her to his car. She sings along to the radio all the way back to her place, because he had picked her up and they don't want to have to worry about cars, and Andy just watches her and smiles. She's funny when she's had a drink and allows herself to just loosen up. They laugh all the way up to her apartment, recalling the people they ran into over the course of the night and the new stories they have to tell. She drops her bag on the sideboard by the door as he closes the door behind him.

He spins her around suddenly, planting his lips on hers like he's wanted to do all night, and she moans and slowly, careful of her heals, walks back towards her room, holding him firmly to her, her eyes closed. He sheds his jackets as he's going, and helps her do the same, and even though Rusty isn't home until later tomorrow, she kicks her door closed.

And then they spend the rest of the night moving together with their clothes off, and gosh, isn't that just her favourite kind of dancing.


	19. Syncopation

_Note: I was listening to Only You by Yazoo while writing that last one. It's my song of the week (month) and I can't get enough. (ProTip: go back and read the slow dance while listening, you're welcome)_

_And now a little chapter of domesticity, as I try and work some canon into this story. The more we move through season 2, the more I'll start to bring some of those stories into my own, but I'm treading lightly, because I don't know where the writers are going and I'd like to remain as faithful to the canon characters as I possibly can. _

_That being said, I hope you like some family fluff. Reviews are my crack, will you be my dealer? (Worst pick-up line ever, I'm sorry)_

**Syncopation **

She moves out of the cool of the fridge, almost whining at the loss. The heat of summer is starting to set in, and with it a feeling of dread. When her children were smaller and she had more control over her work leave, summer was the greatest time of the year- sticky heat combated with frequent trips to the beach; camping with their cousins; staying with the grandparents. All those things that defined the season were hers for the taking. But since her children grew up and moved out, and work became a greater priority, all summer has to offer is the promise of uncomfortable work clothes and the smell of police sweat in the office. It lost its appeal somewhere around the time she had to work in the middle of Los Angeles without a break.

She grabs her soda can, a rare indulgence that is mercifully cool in her hand. The can is already perspiring, and she absently runs a finger over the dew, lamenting the fact that with longer sunlight comes hotter days. They wrapped up their case early for once, and so she's home before sunset, and she almost doesn't know what to do with herself in the fading light, a few hours away from dinner.

Rusty walks around the corner and goes straight to the cupboard, collecting a small pack of cookies that she acquiesced to last time she went shopping. She doesn't like having too much junk in his lunchbox, but figures a growing boy will only run it off anyway, and what's it going to hurt having this one thing. Rusty pops the bag, grabs a handful of cookies, moves towards the dining area, and shoves two in his mouth at once, pausing dramatically when he notices her intent eyes on him. She grins, and he comically starts to chew his food again, and she moves towards him.

"You're getting a haircut" she says, ruffling his hair once, still conscious that there are physical boundaries they don't often cross.

"Sharon-" he starts, his mouth still full. He quickly chews and swallows.

"No arguments. You look like a shaggy dog"

"Maybe I want to" he counters, following her as she walks from the kitchen to the living room, drink in hand. He has to shake his head to move the hair out of his eyes, and she only smirks, as though that completely proves her point; Rusty must surely see that it does. "Maybe I like my hair like this"

"You're not spending the summer with that" she says, waving a single finger in circles, gesturing to his head. "And if you cut it now, then once school goes back it will have grown out a little"

Rusty groans, throwing his head back and letting his arms go slack. He drags his feet as he moves closer to the couch.

"But it's summer" he whines. "I can have my hair how I like over summer"

"And it's hot. And I won't have you running around town with that... situation" she says with finality. Her 'mother' tone is finely honed, and the amount of times she had to coax her son to the hairdresser has prepared her for this moment. And Rusty isn't even into the music and surf crowd the way her son was, either. She can only grin, and think to herself that this poor boy is sorely outmatched.

"Okay. Okay, fine. But on one condition" he says, turning suddenly serious as though to make himself look more adult.

She eyeballs him as she lowers herself into the armchair, and he takes a seat on the couch, leaning forward to speak to her.

"Okay. What's your condition? And before you answer, just know that I might not say yes, and you're still getting a haircut"

He balks, and she smirks behind the can as she takes a sip. "That's not fair" he whines.

"I'm not here to be fair, I'm here to make sure you are fed, educated and look presentable, and I'm only half succeeding at the moment"

He huffs, and wants to argue, but they've gone through these motions so many times now that he knows he just won't win. "Well, will you at least hear my proposal?"

"Okay. Shoot"

She shifts around to look at him straight on, putting her soda can on a coaster on the coffee table.

"Okay. I'll get my haircut, and I'll remember to make my bed every day, and I will even take those extra lessons with Buzz for stupid summer school" he starts, the last option sounding like it really pains him. She knows she's asking a lot, getting him to sacrifice time over summer with his friends for the sake of studies, but they've discussed the benefit of him making up his grades, and he's been good about agreeing to it, despite his whinging. He is clever enough to understand the long term benefits of boosting his grades.

"I'll do all that" he starts again. "If you promise to let me get my licence"

She cocks her head, and starts to shake it, her eyebrows going up and her mouth about to open in protest.

"No, Sharon, come on, be fair- I've done everything you asked" he says, cutting her off before she can speak. "I study, I cook, I wash, and I didn't say anything when you had cops always out the front of my school"

She raises her eyebrows and gives him a pointed look, not bothering to hide her amusement at that last point, a small scoff escaping. He holds out his hands in understanding.

"Okay, so I complained a lot. But I never ran off on them" he offers. "And I always listen to your rules, and I swear I'm doing my best to follow them, really"

She smirks at him, and he loses some fight. Her smirk softens into a kind smile, almost proud, because he does raise some valid points, and he has done his very best under difficult circumstances, and he is thriving. She really can't fault him for how well he's turned himself around, and how diligently he follows her rules, even under duress.

"Come on" he begs. "It's summer. All of my friends are going to be going out, and doing things and having fun. It's bad enough that I have to study with Buzz, but please don't kill my freedom too"

She laughs, throwing her head back and shaking it, a deep sound from deep in her belly, and spontaneous enough to sound ridiculous. "So dramatic" she drones.

"Look, you've been great, and I love spending time with you, but think of all the time you'll save not having to pick me up and drop me off everywhere"

"So this is really for my benefit?" she asks with a smirk and a quirk of her brow, a knowing glint in her eye.

"I'm just saying there are perks for you here too. And you have that other car that never gets used-"

"It's for my children, for-"

"-for when they stay over, yes, I know. Except they haven't stayed over once since I've been here. Which, by the way, is kinda suss"

She gives him a kind look; one full of understanding. He's never pushed to meet her family, and her children have respected that space, despite their trepidation over a strange boy living with their mother. The few times Rusty has spoken to them on the phone have been polite enough, and her kids have relayed their support to her about her choice to keep him under her roof. But they've yet to breach the family boundaries and come together in the same room, and she's not sure when or if they ever will. It's much the same with them meeting Andy, and she's a bit sad about it all, because she'd like nothing better than to have everyone together, eating, drinking, and being merry. That might be a bit awkward with Jack still in the picture, but even so, it's a deluded wish she has.

In response she just lays her hand on Rusty's where it is resting on the arm of the chair.

"If I say yes to this- and that is a very big _if_- there will be some conditions"

"Well obviously" he says, rolling his eyes. "It wouldn't be you if there weren't rules to follow"

She grins, because his teasing is light-hearted, and she knows he secretly likes having his boundaries laid out for him. "Watch it"

"So what conditions?" he asks, almost bouncing with excitement.

"Firstly, you'll be learning with me. If you can't take that, then we're going to have an issue"

For a moment Rusty looks genuinely terrified, but then he schools his features and nods his head. The price of freedom, he thinks. She tries not to smile. She knows she drives in a way her children would label 'safe', at least by L.A standards, but she won't have Rusty picking up bad habits by learning from people who know the roads better and have more experience. Or from people who have all that, plus a badge to get away with minor traffic infringements, she adds to herself, thinking of her current love and his knack for ignoring the rules.

"Second, you'll be obeying every one of the restrictions of your licence"

"Of course"

He almost looks offended that she would suggest otherwise, but this is important, because any mistake on his part could reflect back on her, or worse, ruin his credibility as a witness. It's imperative that he understands the reason he's with her in the first place, and the stakes involved in his life turn-around. It's not enough for her to know he's a good kid; he has to prove it every step of the way. She doesn't find that fair, but that's how it is.

"Thirdly, you will use the car for school only, until you can prove to me that you're responsible enough with it to take it out on weekends"

He looks ready to argue that point, probably because weekends and holidays are exactly why he wants the car in the first place. She stares him down, and shakes her head almost imperceptibly, and he knows not to argue this point. Sometimes she forgets- they all forget- just where Rusty came from and where he's going, and she has to keep reminding them both that these decisions she makes for him are not just due to overbearing motherly instincts. Giving him access to a car is giving him the chance to run away; she hopes he realises what a professional risk she is taking in showing him this trust, despite their relationship. She hopes he knows what it means that she's doing it anyway.

"These are all non-negotiable" she finishes, leaning back and collecting her drink to give him time to think. Rusty nods, slowly, taking it all in and assessing the situation as he sees it.

"Anything else?" he asks, without attitude, open and earnest, and so eager to please that she fights a smile.

"You mess it, you clean it"

He just grins, and rolls his eyes. It didn't even occur to him that a car would mean drive-thru, and chip packets, and candy wrappers, and friends and dirty sneakers. He almost bursts out of his skin at the sudden rush of excitement that runs through him.

"So does this mean I can?" he asks, unable to contain his grin, and his wide and hopeful eyes.

She waits a moment- a single agonising moment in which her unreadable face looks straight at him and straight through him and he holds his breath- before she grins and nods. "You can get your licence" she says on an affected sigh.

Rusty bounds out of his seat, whooping with joy, literally jumping on the spot for a moment as she watches him, laughing despite herself. He suddenly looks five years old, and she's glad she can give him this moment.

"Oh, thank you Sharon, thank you. I won't let you down, I promise. I'll be a great driver, and I'll take good care of the car, and I'll follow all the rules, I swear"

"I know you will" she says, taking another sip of soda. There's half a mouthful left, so she finishes that too. It's almost dinner time, and she doesn't usually like to have fizzy drinks, but it's too hot to think about anything beyond the cooling feeling of bubbles in her stomach.

There's a knock on the door, breaking the moment, and Rusty bounds over and answers it with a grin, throwing the door open breathlessly.

"Hey kid, slow down"

"Sharon's gonna let me drive" he says in greeting, stepping aside to admit their guest.

She smiles at them from the armchair, a semi-guilty look on her face as Andy looks at her in askance, a little grin on his face. There's a plastic bag in his hand, the outline of takeaway containers visible, and she wonders what he picked up on his way over. She hadn't mentioned dinner, and he hadn't either, but he notices her looking at the bag and pointedly ignores her.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" he asks, mostly teasing, though there does seem to be a hint of trepidation in his eyes. She finds it sweet.

"I'm enforcing some strict rules" she replies. She gives Rusty a pointed look, reigning in his enthusiasm. The boy just rolls his eyes and gives a defeated nod.

"Of course you are" says Andy, rolling his own eyes and moving to the kitchen, taking his jacket off as he goes and throwing it over the back of a dinning chair. She hears the rustle of the plastic bag being placed on the bench, and he's not telling so she's not asking. "How are you in the way of milk?" he calls.

"There's a fresh carton in there" she calls back.

"Great"  
Rusty moves to the couch again and flicks the television on, changing the channel only once before Sharon turns back to him.

"News please"

He groans and throws his head back, but complies all the same, tossing the remote closer to her on the table once he's changed it to the news and slumping into his cushion, his feet defiantly swinging up onto the coffee table. He doesn't really mind the news, since there was nothing he particularly wanted to watch anyway, but the two of them seem to take pleasure out of being perfectly normal with each other; in adopting the roles of mother and son, though both are careful never to overstep that line. For all the woman's mistakes, Sharon never wants to erase Rusty's mother from his life. Even if the only lesson he learns from her is how _not_ to behave, Sharon is conscious, as a mother herself, that it is not her place to fill that gap in his life. Sharon Beck's absence must be felt in order to be understood. As much as she wants to protect him, she can't deny Rusty the learning experiences of his childhood, and she can't protect him forever. He's clever enough to take those lessons and turn himself around, under her guidance and with her support. He is also perceptive enough to understand why she insists on being that way, and for that she is grateful.

She leans over and collects the remote, turning it up as the next story comes on screen. Andy walks around and flops into the couch next to Rusty, a glass of milk in one hand and a couple of cookies in the other. He obviously found the bag Rusty opened earlier, and when she gives a questioning look towards the glass of milk, he only shrugs.

"Crumbs" she warns him, eyeing the hand holding the cookies and then her very expensive upholstery. If he's going to be over at her home eating snacks, she thinks she'll have to enforce the same eating rules that Rusty gets, if only to spare her poor couches from the wrath of boys. Her husband had been terrible; their last shared couch had been a lost cause.

"Yes Mom" says Andy, mocking her, yet serious enough to pacify her.

She just gives him a look and they both turn back to the news. Eyes on the television, Andy holds his open hand towards Rusty, offering a cookie, and the boy takes one with a muttered thanks. It's so normal that she doesn't even notice the exchange; such is the level of comfort among them now.

The ad break flicks on screen and she turns to her two boys, both sprawled on the couch, and Andy lost his shoes at some point and joined Rusty in desecrating her table with his feet. She can only grin, almost rolling her eyes.

"What's for dinner?" she asks Andy, a smile hiding in the corner of her eye. She has an idea what it is, but she wants him to say it.

"It's a surprise" he counters, downing the last of his milk.

She hums in amusement. "It wouldn't happen to be Italian would it?"

"Maybe"

"Something we've had before"

"I'm not telling"

Rusty's head watches the volleying like a tennis match, a tiny grin in the corner of his mouth and a look like a lost puppy on his face. He looks positively bewildered when she suddenly pouts, doing her best to look disappointed. Andy only barks out a laugh, shaking his head.

"How many years as a cop and _that's_ the best interrogation you can give me?"

"I was hoping you'd be charmed enough to just tell me" she says, reverting back to herself with a shrug.

"I told you," says Andy, hauling himself out of the couch cushions, patting Rusty's shoulder as he goes as though he's in on it too. "It's a surprise"

"And what if I don't like it?" she calls, following him across the room with her eyes as he moves towards the kitchen, glass in hand.

"Oh, you will"

Rusty looks thoroughly lost, and Sharon doesn't let on that they are having delicious veggie lasagne for dinner, courtesy of the best little all-nighter in town. She thinks she'll leave it as a surprise. She even thinks she might feign surprise herself, for Andy's sake, though he'll no doubt see through it. Still, she loves that he picked up a meal so she doesn't have to cook; the least she can do is play along.

They don't usually make these kinds of gestures; these unsolicited visits with food, or anything really, beyond a surprise cup of tea on break. She thinks it has something to do with them being so secretive, and having to hold back their affection in any place that's not home. It's not that she particularly misses the uninvited initiative- she is indifferent to having to negotiate dinner, or sleeping arrangements, or weekend activities- it doesn't bother her at all, and she's never really stopped to consider it, beyond the occasional yearning to take his hand in public. It's all part of navigating a new relationship, and they both seem to understand that. But to have Andy drop in unannounced with dinner in hand, and raid her cupboard, and lounge on her couch; it is thrilling in a way she wasn't prepared for; a level they hadn't yet reached. She's almost on the defensive, seeing him invade her space so casually, asking about the milk. And yet she's not angry, because they have become so permanent- so intrinsically linked- that no sooner do her hackles rise than they fall again, warmth building in her belly with a smile on her face.

She likes it. She'd like to find a way to keep it, and bottle it, and repeat it again and again.

She thinks he wouldn't mind that one bit.


	20. Staccato

_(Dear Taylor, Sharon is about 60 years old. There won't be any pregnancies in this story. Sorry. __ There are plenty out there though, so feel free to read those ones)_

_Real life is keeping me busy, and I imagine it will continue to do so in the immediate future, but I appreciate anyone who is still with me, and please let me know how I'm faring. I treasure every word._

_In anticipation of tomorrow's (today's?) episode, I have two chapters for you all. It was going to be a single chapter, but given length and tone, I split it into two. _

_This chapter was written for the RaydorFlynn prompt "Not What It Looks Like"_

_Enjoy._

**Staccato **

She cradles the phone handset with a frustrated huff. Placing her pen down on her desk with a sigh, she takes a long and slow blink. She takes off her glasses and pinches the corners of her eyes, careful of her meagre make-up, and rests her head back against her chair for just a minute to ward off the tension she can feel building behind her eyes. Taking a quick look at her watch she sees it's just about to tick over to lunch time, and she breathes a sigh of relief, because she honestly couldn't have focused on this report a minute longer. Standing, she puts her glasses back on and makes her way out of her office and over to the murder room.

They're waiting on lab test results and a call back from a lawyer's office, so everyone is taking five minutes to breathe and debrief, the lingering sounds of laughter in the air as Sanchez makes a crack at Andy's expense. It's not a particularly difficult case to crack, but everything takes time, and so a lunch break is a welcomed distraction. Standing around the whiteboard, the mood is friendly despite the sticky heat of summer that lingers and just won't break. Sharon walks out of her office and stands with them, taking a place next to Andy, though there's a good foot between them.

"You get through?" he asks, referring to her phone-tag she's been playing all day.

"Not yet. I'll try again later"

"Did you hear we're getting a new DDA?" Amy asks Sanchez, just as Provenza is approaching the group from the break room, and they wordlessly make a hole for him to join their circle, right between Sharon and Mike.

"I heard a rumour" says Sanchez, having a sip of his drink.

"Andrea mentioned something the other day when I ran in to her at lunch" says Sharon, and Andy's head quirks sideways at her with a funny look on his face.

"Andrea?" questions Provenza, pitching the name just a little higher, mocking her, and everyone else looks a mix of curious and confused; not at Provenza, they expect that kind of thing from him, but rarely does their Captain mention her plans outside the office. It's a foreign concept. She's grateful that they no longer fight her place here, but she wonders just how long it will take until they get over their shock at her having a life outside the office. Maybe homicide detectives just don't know different, or maybe it's just never crossed their minds, but she honestly thinks it would knock their socks off if either of her children ever sauntered into the office just to see her and say 'hi'. She thinks she'll do that one day, just to see the reaction. Either that, or kiss Andy right here where they're standing, once they're finally allowed to be public.

"It might surprise you to know that I do catch up with friends for working lunch occasionally" she says, rolling her eyes and making everyone smile good-naturedly.

"And here I thought you were just ducking out to polish your broom" quips Provenza, earning him a light whack with the backs of her fingers. She's well aware of the nicknames she used to get, and honestly it's all water under the bridge at this point, so she finds it a little bit funny that he's teasing her now, using it as a friendly dig. It feels welcoming in the way that getting a nickname in high school is a form of approval. Better to be known and accepted, she figures, than to be hated; she doesn't mind being called a witch if he says it with love.

"So who is it? This new DDA?" asks Sykes.

"Did she say what they'd be doing?" adds Tao, popping his head out of the ballistics report in his hand long enough to join the conversation.

"Her name is Emma Rios," says Sharon, half nodding her head. "She'll be taking the Stroh case, too"

"A newbie taking one of the most high-profile murders in recent years?" asks Andy, incredulity written on his face. "Is that a good idea?"

"I'm not sure" she says on a hum, shaking her head, swaying a little on her feet with her arms crossed. "Hobbs seems to think she can take it- she's shown great promise with lesser cases, and her conviction record speaks for itself" she says, speaking almost by rote. "Still, she's young"

"I don't want that scumbag let free because some rookie got it wrong" says Provenza, wagging a finger for emphasis.

"Neither do I" agrees Sharon. "We'll just have to wait and see. You never know, she might surprise us"

Nobody looks particularly convinced, but they don't say anything.

"Here's hoping the eighteen months it takes to go to trial is enough time to prepare her" says Sanchez, doubt clouding his voice, his loyalties running high at the reminder of Phillip Stroh and all he means for this group of people. Everybody nods a little bit, feeling much the same.

"Has Rusty met with her yet?" asks Sykes kindly, showing a sense of understanding in her eyes that frankly surprises Sharon, though she'd never show it. Sykes has more to offer than anyone gives her credit for, and she loves seeing these moments when it shines through.

"Not yet" says Sharon. "And I haven't made mention that I'm his guardian either"

"Why? You're not doing anything wrong" says Provenza, defensive on her behalf, which she finds both touching and a bit surprising. He has been nothing but supportive of her relationship with Andy- if she can call silence and ignorance support- but has never made much comment on her guardianship. That he seems sympathetic now tells her that she's doing a good job; that her people are pleased with the progress she's made with Rusty, and the place he holds in all their hearts. The time he's spent at the squad over the summer has been good for all of them; Rusty has experienced safe and honest friendship, and the squad gets a reminder about why their job is so important; the next generation and all that he represents.

"I know I'm not doing anything wrong" she says, reassuringly. "But I'd like to meet Rios in a professional capacity first, get a sense of who I'll be dealing with before she meets with Rusty"

"The last thing you want to do right now is upset the kid- he's just settling in" says Andy, worry in his voice and concern on his face, and if they weren't at work she's probably lay a hand on his arm or something. But the environment is enough to keep her professional, and so she only nods at him.

"I agree. And summer school goes back shortly, and then first semester after that. Which is why_ I'll_ meet her first- suss her out"

She misses the few smirks that go around the group at her tone, but Andy doesn't, and he shares a look with Tao as he fights against making a comment about her being overprotective, or a mother bear or something equally derisive. Nobody here needs reminding of who they're dealing with, or what Rusty means to her.

"When's she coming in?" asks Tao.

"Next week, apparently. But I might make a quick trip over to the DA's office and introduce myself before then"

"Meet her on enemy turf" says Provenza with a sly grin.

"More like… start on the offensive" she counters with a look of her own. Provenza only chuckles, very deliberately and with a shake of his head, and it looks practically conspiratorial the way the two of them have started bouncing comments off one another. A phone rings and everyone disperses, but Sharon and Provenza share one more look before she walks back to her office to grab her things for lunch.

As everyone gathers, Andy follows her to her office a few steps behind. He walks in and doesn't shut the door, and that tells her what kind of conversation this is going to be.

"Are you worried?" he asks as she rounds her desk.

"About?"

"About all the trial stuff beginning soon. It'll be over a year before he sees the inside of a courtroom, but Rusty has to start preparing"

"You're asking if I'm worried about Rusty going on the stand?"

"Yeah"

She ponders the question as she gathers her jacket and packs away the files she doesn't need after lunch time. "Not really" she says, thinking on it. "I won't deny that it will be hard for him; he has a long way to go. But he's strong, and he's smart"

"And he has you"

She only nods. She isn't modest about the place she holds in Rusty's life; she won't bother to deny the impact her home has had on him. If she can continue to provide his refuge, she thinks he'll be alright.

"He's not ready now. But I think he can be ready by the time we go to trial" she says, measured and fair, and without conceit.

"And this Emma?"

"We'll deal with her when the time comes, if she's even someone who needs _dealing with_"

He lowers his voice, just enough that any eavesdroppers can't overhear from outside. "And what are you doing tonight?"

She only smirks at his leery look, dropping her eyelids just fractionally and reaching for her purse, looking casual as she checks its contents. "Cooking dinner. Watching a movie. Reading my book in bed"

"Need help with any of those things?"

She looks up with an expression that is positively deadly, and leans forward just enough. They stare at each other, both smirking, only a couple of inches between them with her leaning forward and him towering over her desk. She can feel his breath on her face and see the challenge in his eyes. He's daring her to be naughty, just this once, knowing she never will, and she's resisting just to tease him, knowing it will drive him mental. She's never been one for games; she's dealt with her fair share in relationships. But this feels positively wicked, standing here in her office, the door and blinds wide open. Her smirk widens fractionally.

"Good God"

They both look up suddenly at the doorway, innocently moving apart in the process as they see who's standing there. With both hands on his eyes and a squint visible underneath, Provenza looks like he just walked in on his parents naked and writhing. Close enough, she thinks with a mental shrug.

"Can you two, please for the love of god, keep yourselves calm in the office"

"What're you talking about, grouch?" asks Andy, needling him with a playful grin and falsely innocent expression.

"I'm talking about you two sucking face in an open fish tank, that's what" he grouches, gesturing to her open blinds, though people have already cleared out for lunch.

"We were not _sucking face_" she replies, a sense of incredulity underneath her amused tone and raised eyebrow. "We were discussing Rusty's situation with the trial"

Why he would ever think they'd be so careless as to make out in her open and exposed office she'll never know. The fact that none of them have neither confirmed nor denied that there is a relationship at all tells her the cat is definitely out of the bag with Provenza, but probably not with anyone else, given his concern that someone would see them. It's good to know.

"Well that's not what it looked like" he says, still in a grump, but also looking somewhat cautionary.

"What do you want?" snarks Andy, crossing his arms with an affected huff.

"I came to ask you if you two would like to join us for lunch. Of course if you'd like me to close the blinds instead-"

Andy just glowers, and Sharon's face sits halfway between outrage and amusement, so mostly just looks constipated. Provenza almost chuckles at the two of them, but manages to control himself as he just smirks.

"Let's go" says Sharon lowly, belaying any impending argument and gliding towards the door with her jacket in hand and her purse strap over one shoulder.

"After you, oh Captain, my Captain" croons Provenza, sweeping his arm wide in the doorway to admit her. He shoots a look at Andy behind him, still fighting the giggles, and walks after her, Andy stomping at the rear.

"You know, you two make a cute couple Provenza" teases Andy, a scowl still on his face though his words are light.

"Oh please" drones Sharon, tilting her head back. They can all feel her eyeroll in her words, though neither man actually sees it.

"Don't start with me, Andrew, I am far superior at this game and you will only lose"

"No really, you would. Same height and everything"

Sharon snorts as she hits the button for the elevator, the two men behind her proceeding to enter one of their friendly arguments, and she can only grin and she proceeds to witness the whole thing all the way to her car. She doesn't know how they managed to agree to carpool, but she ends up driving, and Andy spins around in the passenger seat to continue his verbal sparring with Provenza sitting in the back.

She drives perfectly well with all of the ruckus; she's had lots of practice ferrying unruly children around town.


	21. Rubato

_Quick posting before 2x05, to establish my own canon in this story. If it turns out to be totally wrong, well, I'll just have to deal with that. As always, any and all feedback is appreciated and totally welcome. _

**Rubato**

She hears him walk in and finishes the sentence she's writing, her glasses perched on her nose. They are the only two left in the office, finishing up some paperwork while everyone else went out for lunch. She looks up to greet him, a smile on her face, but immediately turns serious when she sees the look in his eye and the tension in his gait.

"I need to ask you something" he says. He looks serious, and his tone is rough and angry, and she thinks his love for her is the only thing stopping this from turning into an all-out tirade, though over what she has no idea.

"What?" she prompts, getting up to close her other door as he closes the one he walked through. Her blinds are still drawn from an earlier meeting with DDA Hobbs, and she's thankful, because he looks like any sudden movement or loud noise might startle him.

He's standing on the spot, almost huffing, and it looks like rage, but she gets the impression that it's more like betrayal. She really doesn't know what has set him off. He had gone to his ex-wife's a few days ago to discuss his daughter's wedding plans, and has been distant with her since. She understands his need to have space, and was more than happy to grant it to him, but she thinks there's something he's not telling her, and it worries her. She sits in a chair in front of her desk, hoping to get him to sit next to her and talk.

"Andy, what is it?" she prompts again, concern colouring her tone and a frown appearing on her face as she watches him pace the floor in front of her door.

He only shakes his head, and seems to change his mind about something.

"I need to tell you something" he says instead.

"Well, are you asking or telling?"

"Both" he says.

"Okay" she drawls, now thoroughly confused.

"They're not really related... only they kind of are"

She rolls her eyes. "Andy, you're not making sense. Here, sit- talk to me. Just start at the beginning"

At her coaxing he finally stops pacing, but he still won't meet her eye, and seems to make a point of pulling the chair back and not pulling it closer again. She isn't worried that this is about them- he wouldn't talk about their relationship at work, she doesn't think, at least not directly. But something, or many things, are bothering him, and she wonders just how bad that visit to his ex's was.

"The other day at my ex-wife's-"

"Mm?"

"I, ah... well. I collapsed"

"You what?" she asks, her voice low and deliberate, her eyes wide with worry.

"I fainted, really"

"What happened? Why didn't you call me?" she questions, her voice still soft and calm, her eyes betraying her intense worry as she leans forward in her seat.

"I went to the doctor- I didn't want to worry you over nothing"

"And what did the doctor say?"

"I have high blood pressure, apparently" he says, looking thoroughly dejected, but also very annoyed. She wants to make a quip about his diet, but thinks it might not help his mood, so stays quiet. She is still worried, but he seems fine now, so she doesn't berate him further for keeping it from her.

"Okay. And what are you going to do about that?" she asks quietly, a hint of the mother underneath.

He looks at her, obviously glad to have dodged a lecture, or a screechy argument about keeping her informed. Their relationship is profound, for both of them, and little reminders of its existence keep it very real, but he's aware that there's an element of impermanence to it as well; that there are parts of their lives that are not intrinsically linked, and may never be. He knows she is as much in love with him as he is with her, but he just as surely knows that they will never be a single entity. Perhaps it's a product of age, or perhaps they are just too comfortable with the status quo to go making huge life changes now, when things are so steady. Perhaps it's something else altogether. Honestly, he doesn't much care, just so long as he doesn't lose her completely. But he loves that she's letting this remain his problem, and supporting him from the sidelines. It's enough of a blow to his ego without her doting on him.

"I don't want to go on the pills"

She sighs. "Andy, if the doctor is telling you-"

"I won't go on the damn pills" he repeats with a growl. She holds up her hands to pacify him, eyeing him and sizing him up. She isn't afraid of him; only that his mood will lead to some self-destructive implosion.

"Then what is your alternative?" she challenges.

"I'll change my diet, for one" he says. She had noticed that he was bringing sandwiches to work and cutting back on coffee. She hadn't paid it much attention; he's entitled to eat what he wants without scrutiny. But it makes sense now.

"Do you want my help?" she asks, soft but not timid. If he wants her help all he has to do is ask; she won't hold his hand like he's a child.

"I could use some pointers. You're healthier than I am"

"Okay" she nods. "I can do that. What else?"

"I need to exercise more- keep my heart healthy"

She wants to smirk and can see that he does too because they exercise just fine and plenty, but this is serious and they need to keep it serious; she won't let him brush this off as a trivial issue that he has to battle alone.

"Okay. What did you have in mind?" she asks, sitting straighter and resting her hands professionally in her lap.

"Walking, I guess. Start there"

He seems to let go of his anger more and more as he speaks to her, becoming almost embarrassed, and she imagines this is quite a shock to him; a stark reminder that he's not thirty anymore. Hell, he's not forty either. Neither of them are. She is worried for him, and hopes he doesn't start shutting her out, but he seems open enough, so she settles her hand on his arm and squeezes just enough to let him know she's by his side.

"I can come with you sometimes, if you're at my place. My neighbourhood is beautiful to walk in the evenings"

He nods, a little frown on his face, still not meeting her eye.

"I don't want you to baby me about this" he says. He seems aggressive, but she knows him well enough to recognise that it's just insecurity on his part, so she only smiles.

"I won't" she assures. "But I will support you, however you need me to"

He just nods, still thoughtful, and she remembers he had something to ask her, and gets the feeling that it has nothing to do this conversation. He turns to look out her window, a scowl on his face, and she squeezes his arm again in askance.

"Your husband" he starts, quiet and a bit contemplative. She shakes her head a little at the sudden change in topic, and almost rushes to defend herself, but figures he has a right to ask and so she just hums in the back of her throat.

"Why aren't you two divorced?"

She lets out a long breath through pursed lips, hanging her head and blinking hard. She sits back in her chair and she lets go of his arm. Her eyes squint a little, as though seeing something that's not there and the air is suddenly bubbling with awkwardness. He's never asked before, and she doesn't offer much, and she knows that there was a certain safety in compartmentalising her life. But she knew this question was always going to arise, and she rues the fact that she didn't better prepare herself for it.

"It's... complicated" she says, buying herself a moment to think of an answer that will make sense to him.

"Not really" he replies, giving her a look. "And don't tell me it's all about the religion. That's not your style"

She nods to the side, her eyes now focused out the window as she feels him turn to look at her.

"It is partly that" she says, quiet but firm, an insistence in her voice that frankly surprises him. He's never once heard of her going to church, and figures she wouldn't even be with him if she was so staunchly entrenched in her vows. But it must hold great importance to her, for whatever reason, for her to so candidly stick by her Catholicism in the face of so much doubt. He's trying to understand her marriage in comparison to his own; trying to find the point of difference. Sometimes he can't believe he'd been in love with his ex, enough to walk down the aisle with her, what with the way things have soured. He blames himself for that; blames the bottle he let himself fall into and the bitter years it took to crawl out of it again. He blames himself for the distant relationship he has with his children, though no doubt they had voices in their ears while growing up. Still, he's really trying to understand the enigma that is her husband, and this sword of Damocles that is her marriage which always seems to hang over his head. He doesn't doubt she loves him. But sometimes, on very rare occasions, he doubts that love is enough. All this business with Nicole's wedding is making him consider their relationship. It frightens him.

"I made a vow" she says, finding her words. "No matter how my relationship with Jack stands, I won't break it"

He looks at her, hard, and she lets him though doesn't meet his eye. She desperately hopes he understands that she wants him in her life, despite her husband; that she doesn't take adultery lightly, and wouldn't ever enter into a relationship without it meaning something. She wasn't in love with all of her previous partners, but she always cared deeply for them; she wouldn't have it any other way. She feels less guilt over technically cheating than she would over divorcing her absent spouse, and she can't explain why, but that's the reality of it.

Andy's gaze burns her cheek, and she wonders just what kind of blow this will deliver; if he can handle her honesty on top if the new stresses in his own life.

"Do you love him?" he asks.

She looks at him. His voice is hard, but not angry. He doesn't question her feelings for him, but he needs to know where he stands; he needs to know that he's not some fill-in while she waits for her husband to return from the bottle, or the chips, or whatever other addiction he's gotten himself into. His insecurity both elates her and breaks her heart; she never wanted him to doubt her love for him, and hopes that the connection between them thus far will be foundation enough.

"I will always love him, Andy" she replies tenderly, on a whisper, tilting her head with open eyes and a smile directed at him. "I married him for a reason, and we had some great years- he is the father of my children. He is still one of my oldest and dearest friends, even if we couldn't keep our marriage together. A part of me will always love him- the same part of me that can't bring myself to divorce him"

He looks away and nods, trying to offer her the level-headedness she deserves, though his blood boils at the thought of having a rival. Logically he knows that there is no competition between himself and Jackson Raydor. He can understand what she's saying about her feelings, though it hurts to not own her heart completely. But she's been nothing but honest with him and he tries to remember that as he gives her indication enough to continue.

"But I'm not _in love_ with him, Andy. He will always be in my life, but our relationship works best when there are at least two state lines between us. I won't lie to you- I don't think I'll ever be in a place to break that connection-"

He winces, and she places her hand on his hand, and she is relieved when he turns his palm up and grasps her fingers lightly. He still won't meet her eye. He won't let her hand go either. She thinks that if it were up to him he'd never let her hand go, though she'd never reveal that she knows him that deeply.

"But I am in love with _you_"

The conviction in her quiet words finally prompts him to look her in the eye, and he knows now that he has no doubts. He's suddenly sorry that he started this conversation on neutral ground in the office, because he'd like nothing more than to take her in his arms and hold her, such is the effect the look on her face has on him.

"Emotions don't come with a quota" she says with a light grin, relieved to see his shoulders relax. "Just because I care about my husband doesn't mean I can't be madly in love with you, too. It is possible to have both without compromising one for the other"

He gives her the ghost of a smile, which she returns.

"And if he comes back?" he asks. He knows Jackson used to take the spare room, but with Rusty settled in and knowing Sharon would never kick him out, there's only one other bed available, and he thinks this Jackson fellow might be audacious enough to ask for it. He seethes at the thought of another man in her bed, no matter the circumstances.

"He hasn't been to L.A in years. Not since I first started working with Major Crimes back in FID. But" she qualifies. "If he comes back, we'll deal with him then"

"Would you tell him about us?"

"If it comes up. And even then only vaguely. We're still a secret, remember?"

"Right"

His grip on her hand doesn't lessen, and she smiles at him as she watches him process this entire conversation, running his thumb absently over hers, his eyes looking back out the window.

"I love you too, you know" he says, still squinting out the window.

"I know" she hums.

"Just promise me one thing"

"Name it"  
"Be honest with me. However you're feeling, I can take it, just be honest" he pleads. For all his bravado and cheek, she knows he's just as fragile as anyone else under the surface. He's been hurt just as much as she has, though perhaps for different reasons.

"I always am, Andy. I wouldn't have it any other way"

He nods then, and looks her in the eye again. She squeezes his hand tight, because despite the closed blinds the door isn't locked and she won't compromise. He squeezes back and gives her a look that sends butterflies through her chest.

"Why don't you come over tonight? I'll run through some basics with you that will help with your new diet"

"Sure" he says with a nod and a smile. She is quietly elated that the distance he's been putting between them seems to be over.

"Good"

They stand, still looking at each other and smiling, and reluctantly drop their hands. Lunch break is over halfway finished, but they both brought a packed lunch today, so he silently gestures to her door and towards the break room. The rest of the squad is still out, so there's silence in the corridor besides their footfalls, and she smiles when she feels his hand on the small of her back, ushering her inside ahead of him.

She doesn't think this will be enough to hurt them. She's worried for his heart, of course, but knows they've caught it in time to do something. She's not worried about her husband being a continued presence in their relationship. She can't explain herself any better, but Andy seems to understand where she's coming from, or at least accepts it. She always knew that would be hard for him, but she also knew that their love and respect was strong enough to handle it. She smiles when he collects both of their lunches from the fridge and they settle at a table, facing each other as they unwrap and prepare their food.

"I used to class these as dates" he says to her with a grin, picking up his sandwich.

"What?" she asks around her food, a smile playing on her face as she chews her mouthful.

"Back before we started- when we'd have lunch here together, I used to class them as dates"

She chuckles at him, her eyes wide. "Is this back when you were madly in love with me and I kept denying you?" she teases, taking another bite.

"When all I saw was a nice rack and two sexy pins to die for" he returns, smirking at her as he raises one eyebrow, subtly eyeing the cleavage of her blouse. She blushes slightly, but retains her smirk.

"Really" she drawls.

"Really"

"So are they still dates now?" she asks with a grin.

"Sure. Why not"

She only hums, and proceeds to eat her lunch, and he just grins at her and does the same. They'll be fine, he thinks. They're grown up enough to know what they want, and in love enough to hold on tight. They'll see this out, warts and all. It takes him a moment to realise that the stone that had settled in his stomach is gone, and the tension he felt in the base of his skull had alleviated, and as he takes a sip of some herbal tea he really doesn't like, he realises that she did that. She brought this calm.

And god, isn't he just a goner now.


	22. Lullaby

_And from now on kids, we are flying in AU mode. After 2x05 I just don't see how I can possibly keep this totally within the laws of established canon, mostly because the marriage of Sharon Raydor is so damn interesting all on its own and I kind of want to leave that as its own thing and this as a different thing. So from here on out consider this an AU, though I'll work in major plot points as we go. _

_And, as ever and always, to those still with me, thank you, and to those who review, bless you. I hope you all enjoy. _

**Lullaby **

"Come on Rusty, open up" she calls gently, rapping again on the door.

She sighs, and lays her forehead against the door frame, her eyes slipping closed in exhausted frustration. She knows the door is not actually locked, but she's always respected Rusty's need for privacy and she won't open it unless he allows her to enter of his own free will. She hears Andy's slow footfalls down the corridor, a soft look on his face as he watches her, his hands in his pockets as he takes easy steps. He stops right near her bedroom door, leaving the small distance between them as sign enough that he's hoping to coax her back into the living room.

"He still won't come out?" he asks. This has been going on for a good two hours, on and off, and he can see she's really reaching the end of her tether.

She abandons her post at the bedroom door and walks towards him, and he opens his arms just as she practically crashes into them, groaning in frustration against his chest. After a moment her arms come around his waist, and he just rubs comforting circles on her back, trying not to let her feel his smirk. He walks them both down the hall and over to the couch, and pulls her down into the cushions with him, his arm around her shoulder as he tucks her into his side.

"He won't talk to me at all" she whines.

"He had a big day. His first meeting with Emma, going it alone, standing up to her questioning. Give him time to find his feet again"

For a moment Andy remembers the aftermath of his first AA testimonial, and how he'd just wanted to crawl right back into that bottle after spilling his guts to strangers. He's been there; he knows what it feels like to hate yourself and want to change yourself, but being unyieldingly trapped by the past.

"I'd like to help him find his feet- that's the point" she grumbles, curling around onto her hip so she can lay her head on his shoulder and her arm around his middle. Already she can feel it starting to slim a little with his new diet, though it's only been a couple of weeks. Water-weight mostly, she thinks, but is relieved all the same.

"Sharon, the boy's growing up. And it's probably scaring the absolute crap outta him. Give him time. He still loves you. That, and he'll have to come out eventually, because he'll get hungry"

She grins into his chest, rolling her face to bury it in his shirt. He has an infuriating ability to make her laugh, and she loves him for it. Laughter was always something she demanded in a relationship; Jack had offered plenty, but unfortunately not much of anything else. Andy makes it all so damn easy.

She groans in the back of her nose, a completely undignified and frankly foreign sound from her, and huffs again. "I just don't know what to do for him" she says, sounding small and lost.

"Present him with a big bowl of ice cream when he finally emerges, and ask what movie he wants to watch"

"That easy?" she asks.

"He was pretty brave today, going in there alone. I think he's just gonna want some reassurance that you've got his back"

"Of course I have his back" she answers incredulously, sitting up to look him in the eye, an earnest look on her face that he finds adorable. "I always have, I always will"

"I know that" he hushes. His expression softens just slightly as he smiles at her and rubs her arm. "More importantly, he knows that. Just give him some time to remember it, okay?"

He leans in, lightly clasping her face between his hands, and kisses her sweetly. She returns it with a little smile, her hands resting against his sides. Their eyes slip closed as they part, and then they lightly kiss again. It's soft and comforting, and exactly what she's been missing all the years she's been alone.

When they part again, her eyes stay closed just a fraction longer, and she opens them to find him staring at her with the greatest shit-eating grin on his face. She suddenly feels very special, and doesn't quite know what to do with that except curl back into his side and tuck her hand firmly over his stomach. She swings her legs up onto the couch and curls them half underneath her bum; this is exactly what she needs.

She sighs, her breath brushing his jaw as she leans her head back against his shoulder and turns her nose towards his neck. He squeezes her shoulder just slightly, rocking her fractionally closer as he enjoys the feeling of being so necessary, and so wanted. He's never been one for stillness, or for just sitting and taking in a moment and allowing it to just be. Too long in his own head is never good for his mood; too many thoughts start to swirl; memories of past cases, of long-held regrets, times sitting in a bar that he can barely remember, his latest health concerns, his relationship with his daughter. When he is still, and silent, and can feel his own heartbeat for longer than a few moments, it gives those things a chance to come forward. He doesn't like being that way, and it's not because he wants to avoid facing his life. He needs to address things head-on and in front, both eyes forward and feet moving him to change; he needs to mentor at AA, and power-walk around the block, and maybe sometimes resist the urge to belt a suspect through a wall. Brooding and wallowing turns him into a person he doesn't like or want to be; a bad cop; a man Sharon doesn't need in her life.

But sitting with her, reclined against her couch and with her inhalations syncing with his own, he doesn't mind lingering as long as he can, letting the silence descend and a peace settle somewhere in his gut. The presence of someone so fundamental to him keeps his mind blissfully blank.

He smiles when she sighs, a high-pitched and airy hum escaping her, and he turns his head and plants a kiss against her hair.

"I'd almost forgotten how hard this single parenting thing was" she mumbles, loud enough for him to hear, but just barely above a whisper. "I'm glad I have you"

He scoffs and rubs his palm over her upper arm in support. "You're amazing. Never doubt it"

He had suspected her husband was an absent parent, given everything else he's gleaned about the man, but his heart goes out to her at the thought that, far from doing his best to be there despite the separation, her husband left the bulk of the parenting to Sharon. He's never met him, and wouldn't want to wish him harm, but god would he like to left alone with him for just an hour. Perhaps his insecurities regarding his own kids fuel this fire, and really that doesn't surprise him, but all the business with Nicole's wedding makes Andy thankful he's kept up some kind of relationship, and now at least he can honestly say he tried. He listens to the sound of Sharon breathing against him- relaxed but not asleep- and can't imagine that anyone would want any different with her and her children.

He rocks her shoulder close one more time, though she can't know what he's thinking, and she opens her eyes just fractionally and curls a little further into his chest. Her hand comes up to rest lightly over his heart, her fingers patting him there a couple of times. His other hand comes up to hold it flat there, and he rests his cheek against her head.

"Just for the record, I'm glad I have you, too"

She smiles bashfully. She tilts her head up, looking at him as he squints down at her out of the corner of his eye. He smirks right back.

They hear the click of a lock and the squeak of a door. Both heads turn to look down the hall, and they see Rusty slowly make his way out of his room. His head is bowed, his eyes focussed pointedly at the floor, and despite the shorter length, his hair covers half of his face. His hands are in his track pants pockets, and his shoulders are hunched as he walks softly from the hall around to the kitchen, deliberately ignoring them, though he obviously realises they are watching him. She hears him dishing up some dinner for himself; she had told him an hour ago through his door that there was food on the stove for him when he was ready.

When he rounds the corner again, posture much the same except for the plate in his hand, Sharon catches a glimpse of his face behind his hair, and she can see the red of his eyes and the blotchiness of his cheeks.

In an instant she is standing, her hand lingering for just a moment on Andy's shoulder as she follows Rusty back towards his room. He doesn't close the door behind him as he goes, and that's invitation enough for her to follow him straight on in. Sometimes her own children insisted they didn't want to talk, when really they did. Sometimes they tried to be brave all on their own and it worked; other times, they need someone to catch them. She thinks Rusty's been brave enough for one day.

She walks in just as he's setting the plate on his bedside table, his back to her and his head still bowed. She takes a step towards him, and then another. Suddenly, as though his puppet strings are cut, he falls forward onto his bed, his head burying into his pillow and his arms tucking in underneath it, his legs stretched out straight. In a single moment she closes the distance, taking one more step and sitting on the bed next to his hip. She sees his shoulders shake just once.

She places a hand on his back, right between his shoulder blades, and rubs small circles as she feels him silently shaking all over, heavy sobs refusing to be let go. She knows how he feels about crying in front of people, but she can see that right now he needs her support more than he needs the pretence of false dignity. She brings her other hand up to rest gently in his hair, not sure how else to help him. If it was her own son she would pull him into her arms whether he liked it or not, and force him to hug her back as she gave all the platitudes she could think of. Maybe even rock him, if it made him feel better. But Rusty is not her son, and is not quite so comfortable with physical contact in general, and so she stays there with one hand on his head and the other rubbing circles on his back, and she thinks that's enough.

He is silent, even in his breathing, and so she hears Andy approach the door with light footfalls. She turns and gives him a look of sympathy. A whole night of knocking on the door and he finally let her in.

Andy walks quietly into the room and around to the other side of the bed, making enough of a ruckus with the bed sheets to let Rusty know he's there too. He sits on the boy's other side, but doesn't reach for him. He doesn't touch him at all, but his weight dips the mattress enough to let him know he's there. They want to support him, but crowding him will only make him shut down, and so he leaves it to Sharon.

Together they sit like that for a long while, silent and still, except for the hand on Rusty's back that never ceases its caress, and the one in his hair that barely moves except to lightly rub his scalp. After a while Andy notices the boy's breathing is deeper; the silent shaking of his shoulders has stopped and his arms are relaxed where before they were tense. He meets Sharon's eye, and she softly smiles, nodding to indicate that yes, Rusty has in fact fallen asleep. Andy grins at her in response.

He stands first, careful not to jostle the bed, and makes his way to the door. Sharon runs her hand through Rusty's hair a couple of times, smoothing it down from where her fingers had been, and then gently stands up herself. She smiles at Rusty for a single moment, his heavy breathing becoming audible in the silent room. Picking up the forgotten plate of food, she turns and walks to Andy at the door, and he pulls quietly closed behind her as she steps through. Together they make their way down the hall, and it's not long before they're both tucked up in bed, wrapped around each other in sleep despite the lingering warmth of the summer night. She had found out a short while after they got together that Andy likes to snuggle in his sleep, and he bear-hugs the closest thing he can find, doona or person. She doesn't mind so much; it's nice waking up in someone's arms.

For a few long hours the house is quite; still in that way that only a sleeping house can be.

When Rusty pads out of his room in the middle of the night, his unbearably empty stomach waking him a few hours later, he is surprised to see a faint glow from the kitchen. Rounding the corner he sees the small stove light has been left on, and on the stove is a plate of food with clear plastic wrap over the top. With a confused grin he approaches the surprise package, and sees a sticky note on top of the plastic in a wonderfully familiar hand. He could almost cry again, but instead lets out a watery laugh.

_Just in case you get hungry. Buzz for two minutes. Mmmm. _

And he knows he'll be okay.


	23. Augmented Triad

_This chapter is dedicated to JohnnieWalkerGirl over on medullaoblongata . typepad . com. If you don't know her blog, it's fabulous. Just fabulous. Set and prop pieces only shed more light on our wonderful characters, and is a resource that every fandom should have. Thank you, Madame, for providing your wonderful services! Also, I have undertaken your challenge with trepidation; I have never made macaroons myself, though I have seen it done. I am, however, a collector of mugs, so there's that._

_So without further ado, the next instalment. _

_As always readers, your reviews make my day, and I hope you enjoy this chapter._

**Augmented Triad**

She jumps a little bit in her seat at the slam of her office door. She looks up quickly and is not surprised to see Andy standing there with a scowl on his face, practically pacing in front of the doorway, his brow furrowed and his fists clenched. He is furious, but not with her, yet she also gets the impression that he's terrified, and she's stunned for a moment into silence. She's never seen this particular combination in him, and there are only a handful of situations that come to mind that would cause it.

"Is it true?" he spits.

"Is what true?" she asks, calmly adjusting her glasses and leaning back in her chair to look at him. She crosses her arms lightly, for good measure, and is positive that she must look nothing short of a schoolmarm, but it is all part of her look, so she just rolls with it. It's either that or completely freak out over his mood, and she's never been one for theatrics, so she stays calm and hopes some of it rubs off on him.

"The kid got a threatening note?"

He stops being so frantic for a second and sits in a chair opposite her desk, pulling it closer and looking at her seriously. He rests his arms on her desk, leaning forward, and she eyes him closely. She can see now that his anger is actually intense worry, and that his jerky movements are due to the fact that he is one of the last to find out about Rusty's letter. She smiles a little bit, just a flick at the corner of her mouth, to convey her sympathy to his feelings, and to thank him for caring so much.

"He did" she says, nodding slowly. His eyes turn frighteningly dark. "Care-of DCFS"

She is surprised when he deflates instantly. He leans back and lets out a relieved sigh, his face immediately softening, and her eyes go wide in realisation, and she leans forward towards him. Her hand reaches towards him without her even noticing, an unconscious gesture. She plants it on the table when it enters her line of sight, and leaves it there.

"Oh, Andy, no" she assures, quickly, softly. "No, it wasn't sent to my home… we're okay"

He only nods, his eyes finding hers. "Buzz didn't mention where it was sent- I guess I just assumed…"

He looks suddenly very lost, which she can kind of understand, because they've gotten used to worrying for each other, and a tangible threat doesn't really help matters much. She meets his eye, trying to ensure he doesn't shut down on her. With all the drama with his daughter and his health, and Rusty beginning his trial preparation, she doesn't want this to be the last straw. Not until it's really something to worry about, and even then, she needs him to keep his head.

"What are you going to do about it?" he asks, all business except for the way he looks at her. A jolt runs through her stomach at that look. She smiles at him, a bag of mixed emotions.

"Nothing, for the moment"

"Nothing?"

She holds out a hand at his imminent outburst, and gives him a look to silence him. "The wording wasn't threatening enough for the DA's office to place Rusty in protective custody, nor was it severe enough for Taylor to approve the budget for relocation or extra protective measures-"

"Sharon, someone sent the boy a threat-"

"And they obviously don't know where he lives" she says, forestalling his outburst again with a shake of her head. His eyes get angry, but he stays silent, encouraging her to continue. "And I carry and badge and a gun, on top of my very privileged Captain's rank- Andy... there is no safer place for him to be than with me, you know that"

They are both sitting forward, imploring each other to hear their side, and for a moment they are at a stalemate. He stares at her, long and hard, and she can see that he's trying to keep his cool about this, and it's not completely working. She's had this discussion at least three times today, and doesn't really want to rehash the details with him again. She needs to him to just accept it this time and move on. She needs him to support her, but not push her; she's worried enough as it is, without having to navigate his feelings too.

"So no protective measures?" clarifies Andy, still frowning.

"Not yet. Not until I know this is a legitimate threat"

"And if the prints come back negative? Sharon, if this person is writing letters with gloves on, sending them anonymously… it's not going to matter that they don't know your address. And it may only be a matter of time before-"

"Andy" she barks, cutting him off, pausing for a heavy moment to make him understand. "I don't want you to worry about this. I know what I'm doing"

He closes his eyes and throws his head back, pursing his lips and letting out a long breath. He nods, his eyes still closed, and she watches him- the set of his shoulders and the curl of his fingers. She can see how difficult it is for him to stand down and let her handle this, and she purses her lips in a smile, grateful once again that she has him. He opens his eyes and they look at each other, and not for the first time she feels like he can see right down to her soul. His gaze is intense; with worry, with fear, with indignation. Mostly she sees that he's just a little bit lost, because being a protector means needing to have an enemy to protect people from. A faceless person at the end of an anonymous pencil is not a tangible threat for him to fight, and those were always the scariest enemies to him.

She feels honoured to be counted among the few that he would bat for. She feels a swell of pride that he loves Rusty as much as she does. The boy has a lot of people on his side; Buzz and Provenza have shown their true colours in their response to the letter, staying informed every step of the way.

"Don't you do anything stupid" he says to her. She can't stop the sudden, single bark of laughter that escapes her. "I mean it"

"I know you do" she says through her chuckle, nodding.

He smiles then, the mood lifting, and they spend a few long seconds grinning madly at one another.

"You coming over tonight?" she asks. "I still have a few cooking lessons to give you"

"If we ever get outta here, sure"

She smiles in acknowledgement, and then nods. "You let me know" she says. He nods and then stands from his seat, putting his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out and touching her.

"What'll it be?" he asks, referring to his cooking lesson.

"Wouldn't you like to know"

He just scoffs at her and shakes his head, stepping towards the doorway. She grins as she watches him go. They're getting really good at this. Nobody seems the wiser, and yet they manage to find the balance. She's more than a little surprised that it all hasn't fallen on top of them, but willing to live in the moment as long as it lasts. She turns back to her paperwork, a ridiculous smile still on her face.

It is many late hours before she gets home that night. Rusty is waiting up for her, sitting on the couch and just killing time. She knows that this letter has put him very on edge, and so she knows that her latest request is not going to go down well. But she sits beside him on the couch and reminds him that he is still a child, and though he huffs and puffs as he walks back to his room, she knows he understands why she's being cautious. It's difficult for him to deal with not being normal. When every other boy his age is trying to fit in and find their place, she has no choice but to remind him that he's different. Still, he's adjusting well. She thinks he'll be ready to face this thing when it comes time for the trial. But for now it is her job to make sure he gets there, alive and in one piece. She will not compromise where his safety is concerned.

She is shaken from her thoughts by a light and familiar tap on the door. She smiles to herself and stands, walking quietly over and pulling it open.

"I heard you were going to make me something delicious"

She smiles at Andy, pulling the door open enough for him to step inside. Once she closes it behind him he reaches out, throws an arm around her waist, and pulls her hard into a kiss. She is momentarily shocked, and lets out a surprised gasp as his lips explore hers. It doesn't make much, though, for her to kiss him right back. She hopes Rusty is still sulking in his room, because it's exactly the kind of PDA he threatened to call child services over, and she doesn't care enough to stop.

"I've wanted to do that all day" says Andy when they part, pulling back without letting her go. Her arms have somehow found their way around his hips. Still in mild shock, she can only grin at him a little bit, recovering. "You think Provenza would have a heart attack if I did that in the middle of work?"

She pulls away from him with a smirk, lightly tapping his chest with one hand, shaking her head a little. She only notices now that he's holding a small overnight bag in his other hand, and that explains why he bothered to come over so late. He keeps the bag in his car most days, because he spends at least a few nights a week at her place. She thinks it won't be long and he'll start doing some laundry here, and that thought is shocking and scary enough that she mentally changes the subject.

"So what did you have in mind?" he asks her. He can see she's distracted, but chalks it up to this business with Rusty and lets it go. "Where's the kid?"

"He's in his room, sulking over me being overprotective"

Andy grins, and dumps his bag over next to her bedroom door, his eyes flicking for a moment down the hall, seeing the closed door and pointed silence. "You're not overprotective" he says. "You're just a mother"

She almost genuinely squeals over how _right_ it feels to hear him say that; she knows it's the truth, but the warmth in his tone makes her feel, not for the first time, that the three of them have formed their own unique little family. He sounds so proud to be a part of that. She loves him more for it.

"I was going to bake something" she says instead, smiling and swaying on the spot. He makes his way over to her, thinking she looks downright cute.

"Bake something?"

"Something small, so you can have one. Only one" she adds, pointing a finger with a serious expression.

"Oh come on, but I've been so good. I walk every day, I've been eating salad- _salad_"

"I know you have" she says with a smile, patting his chest when he reaches her. She smiles at him again. She's proud of how serious he's been taking his health lately, but he still gets worked up, and though she won't nag him, she really hopes he goes on the medication.

His arms come around her again, and she slides her hands up his arms and around the back of his neck, and he leans in slowly and kisses her. She moans-a high, light little sound, almost involuntary- and kisses him right back. It's soft and sweet, and certainly a promise of more to come, later, when they're all safely tucked in bed.

"Ew"

She parts from him with a laugh. Rusty shoots them a disgusted look and walks on through to the kitchen, and Andy just rolls his eyes and lets his arms drop from around her. They both smirk, and then follow the boy to the kitchen. He's rummaging in the fridge, but gives up after a moment and turns to face the two of them.

""How're you holding up, kid?"

"Alright, I guess. Sharon says not to worry unless it becomes more serious"

Andy just nods. Rusty goes to look in the cupboard, but his searching turns up nothing there either, and he huffs under his breath.

"There's a banana there" she says to him, gesturing to the fruit bowl. "And I'm going to bake a surprise, and you can have one in your lunch tomorrow"

"It's getting late" says Rusty, confused but excited all the same. If it was a weekend he wouldn't question it, but it's the middle of the week, and she rarely stays up past bedtime, especially to bake.

"They won't take too long" she says with a smile.

"What is it?"

"I'm not telling. It's a surprise"

"Can I have one tonight?"

"It's getting late" she replies, her tongue firmly in cheek. Rusty only huffs. He's still annoyed that he has to go back to being dropped to and from school, but he recognises that Sharon is reaching out, and so he rolls his eyes good-naturedly and grabs a banana. "Fine. Then I'm going to bed" he says.

"Goodnight" she says, ignoring his mood. "Don't forget to brush your teeth"

"Yeah yeah"

Andy only chuckles. Sharon smirks at him, and then takes off her jacket and drapes it over the back of a dining chair. He watches, fascinated, as she spend the next few minutes collecting baking ingredients from various locations, gathering them on the bench in a neat formation. She pulls out the metal mixing bowl from her electric mixer and puts in on the bench, and then flicks the button on the kettle. "You can make the tea while I do this" she says. Andy nods, and moves into the kitchen to follow her direction, and she reaches toward a cookbook on her bench that he's never paid much attention. She opens the cover before he can read it, but he sees a brightly coloured biscuit-looking thing in the picture, and mentally rubs his hands in glee. This diet has been killing him. He can't believe she's going to be the one to break it.

He pulls open the cupboard with all her glasses and mugs, and for a moment just stares, mouth open in mild shock. He's seen inside the cupboard before, of course, but figures Rusty must have just emptied the dishwasher, because it's full for the first time, and chocked to the roof with mugs. All shapes and sizes, all colours, right there on the bottom and more convenient shelf. The full set of white mugs and a full set of glasses sit neatly on the shelf above, but right in front of his eye is a plethora of drinking receptacles that he was not expecting. He's surprised he's never before noticed the variety.

"Can I ask you something?" he says, overly casually.

"Hmm?"

"Why the hell do you have so many mugs?"

She bursts into a fit of giggles and shoots him a look over her shoulder, noticing the shelf he's referring to. He pulls down two mugs, about the same size but completely different shapes and colours, and grins as he hears her giggles finally fade out into a hum.

"My children started a tradition when they were little" she says with a smile.

"Really?" he asks with a grin. "Why mugs?"

"Every Mother's Day- this is when they first started school- they used to ask me for money so they could buy me something from the school fare. I would only give them five dollars each, and so they would each buy me a mug from the stall, because they said that was the only good thing you could get for five dollars"

She finishes her sentence on an airy chuckle, fighting back the giggles. Andy grins at the logic of children and at the fact that even at a young age she had instilled such a sense of pragmatism. He doesn't say so, but he would love to meet her kids. Even just as friends, or as a colleague, he would love to one day sit down and see the product of Sharon Raydor. If her progress with Rusty is any indication, he thinks she'd have been nothing short of miraculous- he wasn't kidding before when he said she's a mother to her core.

"Your kids kept it up?" he asks, putting teabags into the mugs and pouring the water.

"They did"

"So you got two new mugs every year when they were little?"

She chuckles and hums in affirmation. "Even to this day I get a mug sent to me on Mother's Day, signed from the both of them. The designs have gotten nicer over the years, but still the same tradition"

Andy wears a big, goofy grin, and collects the milk from the fridge as he watches her face and sees her proud look there. Every time she mentions her children she gets that same look, and he's honoured to witness it; she obviously adores them.

He collects her tea and deposits it near her on the bench, blowing over his own and taking a tentative sip. He's never been much of a tea drinker, but with this new diet and the influence of a tea addict, he's starting to appreciate it. Plus he loves a warm drink, and is open to trying something different. So far he's tried a variety of herbal teas-some of them he likes, some he doesn't, but Sharon keeps throwing them his way, so he gives it a go. Tonight it's plain black, which he doesn't mind.

"So, whatcha making?" he asks. She just huffs at him with a smile, and doesn't answer. He could easily look over her shoulder at the recipe, but he's happy to rest his hip against the bench and watch her measure out caster sugar and put it in the bowl. He's practically giddy at the thought of stuffing something so sweet in his mouth, and isn't the least bit sorry for the innuendo in his own head.

He stands there, fascinated, as he watches her expert hand perform each step of the recipe. She separates her egg whites so quickly and so easily he's sure she used to bake every week; it's too practiced to not be a regular thing. She turns on the mixer and gives him a sly look out the corner of her eye, picking up her mug to take a quick sip of her tea while she keeps her focus on the mix. She stops the machine, reaches for a spatula, tests the consistency, and then flicks the button again for a few seconds. He never expected domestic goddess to be added to his list of fantasies, but she's gone and done it now.

He stands back, enough out of her way to not be a pest, but close enough that he can help if needed, and sips his tea as he watches her move like fluid around her kitchen. A place for everything, and everything in its place, she doesn't have to think as she reaches for measuring cups and spoons, and then opens another draw and pulls out a single plastic ziplock bag, and then a cupboard and pulls out a green mixing bowl and sieve. The various dry ingredients get sifted into the bowl, large lumps discarded into the sink, and then sifted again out of the green bowl and into the metal mixing bowl. She starts folding the mixture, slow and steady.

"It needs to be smooth" she says, lowly, in the back of her throat. "Viscous, not runny"

He puts down his tea, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and tries his hardest not to completely come undone at her tone. When he looks back at her she is smirking at him, more than aware of the effect she is creating, and it is a true testament to his strength of will that he doesn't back her up against the bench, rip her clothes off, and take her hard right there. It's a position they have yet to try, and after this little exercise he's putting it at the top of the list. Teasing and foreplay in his kitchen after dinner is one thing- a rarity, but still hot as fire- but this right here; this whole effect is an entirely new level. If she thinks he's not now going to put forward some fantasies, she has another thing coming.

He meets her eye and her smirk changes just a little bit as she realises the extent of what she's doing to him; he thinks she's genuinely surprised by the black of his eyes.

"Can you get me the flat oven tray?" she asks. Her voice is suddenly very airy. She gestures her head towards the oven and quickly looks away.

He collects the tray and places it down on the bench near her.

"And grab some baking paper out of that draw there and cover it, please? It should be the right one for this"

He does as he is told without question or comment. One more move from her is all it will take, and he thinks she must know that, because she is painfully aware of his movements. Good, he thinks, let her know the effect she has.

She quickly finishes preparing the mixture, piping it through the plastic ziplock (which he's never seen, but finds kind of cute), and putting them in the oven. She sets the timer for twenty minutes, and he thinks he knows what it is, but doesn't say so. He doesn't know how, but he manages to ignore her as he makes his way to the couch and turns on the television as a distraction. She joins him, but sits on the armchair, a huge distance between them, and he feels rather smug at the thought that she obviously can't control herself either.

When the timer goes off he follows her to the kitchen and watches her pull the tray of perfect macaroon halves from the oven. He smacks his lips and she grins at him as she's wiping the green mixing bowl clean, dusting out the remnants of dry ingredients from earlier. This is the best surprise he could ask for, and his look tells her so.

She quickly makes a simple chocolate butter cream in the now-clean bowl, and sits it next to the tray. The halves look perfect- he can see that only one has cracked along the top. He doesn't know much about baking, but he has heard that macaroons can be fiddly. She's obviously done this a thousand times before.

"Can we have one tonight?" he asks. He looks positively gleeful.

"They have to cool first"

He nods, still eyeing the tray of sugary goodness, and then walks without comment back into the living room to sit and watch more television. He looks like an impatient child, and she giggles again. She places the tray on the stove and the bowl of buttercream next to it, and then puts clear wrap over the bowl and a light tea towel over the tray. Then she follows his footsteps back into the living room, flicking the lights off as she goes. He's on the couch, his back to her and watching the television, and she walks up behind him and slides her hand over his shoulders and around him, her mouth next to his ear.

"I was just going to leave them to cool overnight" she whispers.

He turns his head to look at her. "Oh really" he whispers back.

"Unless you wanted to wait another half an hour for-"

He cuts her off by kissing her hard, his hand coming up to thread in her hair. She moans, and her hands tighten around him fractionally. His body turns to face her better, and then he breaks away and stands up, taking her hand. She laughs at him; at the insistent tugging on her hand even as she pauses long enough to put out the various lamps around the living room. They reach her door and he doesn't let her go, bending to pick up his overnight bag before pulling her inside.

He drops the bag just inside and spins around to face her. She barely gets the door closed and locked behind her before he's pulling her into another searing kiss, holding her face in his hands. She moans again as he starts on her buttons, and she pushes him back towards the bed.

"The next time…you bake" he says between kisses, her fingers on his shirt buttons. "… the kid… better not be home"

She chuckles, a deep and throaty sound that's less humour and more agreement. "And you haven't even tried them yet" she says breathily, throwing his shirt behind her and starting on his belt.

"I'm trying it right now" he says, sliding her blouse off her arms and finding the zip of her pants with his fingertips. He feels her stomach quiver under his touch and grins into another kiss.

"Practice makes perfect" she replies.

He only moans and spins her around, gently pushing her back on the bed and pulling her pants down as she shuffles into the middle. He loses his own pants in one go, and then crawls slowly over the top of her, matching grins and a glint in his eye, and they don't say much else for the rest of the night.


	24. Rock

_200 reviews. I am, in all honestly, completely speechless. I don't know how to thank you all enough for your kind words, your squee, your perseverance with this story- it blows me completely away. I cannot express my thanks. For everyone who has reviewed, a huge big whopping hug from me and here *hands a mouldy cookie- shipping from Australia is a bitch*, and to everyone still reading with me *kisses on each cheek* _

_In true spirit of this fic, I'm taking canon events and changing them around for my own nefarious purposes *Dr Evil pinky* And I felt this chapter was especially relevant given today's episode. I won't be addressing every episode, nor bringing up every issue introduced- I feel that the show does a wonderful job of that all on its own. However, any plot points that are relevant to our two will be taken, remaken, and thrown up here. _

_As always, I hope you enjoy. _

_Part 1 of 2. _

**Rock**

He wakes with a start, hearing the click of a door latch and boots on the floorboards. A quick look at Sharon in the dark confirms she is still asleep, which is surprising, because she's not a heavy sleeper and surely a foreign and threatening sound should wake her. He reaches a hand out to her and softly rubs her shoulder. As she goes to make a sound and ask him what's wrong, he lifts a finger to his lips and shushes quietly, and she's immediately alert. They can hear the footsteps in the living space, and then they fade as the intruder walks to the kitchen.

In a flash they both throw back the covers and stand, and grab for their weapons, Sharon's in her top draw on her side, Andy's on the dresser by the door. When Sharon comes up behind him he turns to look at her and whispers in her ear as he's checking his weapon. "Go through the bathroom, run across to Rusty's room, lock yourselves in, and I want you to stay there until I say it's safe"

"Yeah right" she scoffs, rolling her eyes and checking her own weapon in the same moment. With practice efficiency she checks the clip and flicks off the safety, and then is standing right beside him. She shoots him a look for good measure. He wants her to do as he asks and go hide in Rusty's room where she'll be safe, but he can see the firm set of her jaw, and so just rolls his eyes right back at her and gestures her forward. No use arguing with the boss.

They move out of her room and through the living space silently, practiced, years of training and an innate trust paving their way. He does a quick check of the front door and sees it in place, as it should be, lock intact, and that raises alarms for him, and he can't figure out why. She continues around toward the kitchen, gesturing for Andy to cover her as she goes. He swings out wide, allowing her to take the sharp turn around the corner, with him behind her shoulder.

She rounds the corner in a flurry, deliberately landing her foot hard on the floor.

The intruder spins with a muffled gasp of surprise.

There is a moment in which she is sure she is dreaming.

She lowers her weapon.

"Who the hell are you?"

She remembers almost too late that Andy is behind her. For a sickening, silent moment she feels real and honest terror spread like a heat through her belly, and she closes her eyes against the question.

"I could ask you the same thing" replies their intruder, indignant and surprised all in one, which is a unique combination she thinks only he could pull off.

"Jack, what the _hell_ are you doing here, unannounced, at three in the morning?" she snaps. She is positively irate that he has put her in this position, but more because he did it in the middle of the night and has ruined a good night's rest. She was dead asleep when Andy woke her.

Then again, the thought that Jack could have walked in and seen her bed full, the two of them wrapped around each other, Andy lightly snoring, is enough to make her nauseous.

"Who is this guy?" asks Andy. His gun is still raised, though his wrist has gone slack since Sharon took a step forward and addressed the man by name. His eyes flick between them for a second, noticing the familiarity, the lack of modesty from Sharon, the way the man is eyeing Andy with suspicion as though he's the one making unsolicited house calls in the middle of the night. "Wait, Jack, as in, your _husband_"

"Sharon, who the hell is this?" asks Jack, gesturing to Andy, his eyes momentarily flicking to the loaded gun still pointing in his general direction.

She realises now how utterly ridiculous they all must look. She's standing in her kitchen in her nighty with her service weapon, Andy half-dressed and armed behind her, while her husband stands next to her bench with a loaf of gluten-free bread in one hand and a bunch of bananas in the other, a surprised and thoroughly confused look on his face. She thanks her stars, her God and all the Buddha's of the world that she and Andy had gone straight to sleep last night, nighty in place and modest enough to reach her knees and cover her cleavage. She doesn't own much sexy sleepwear, but when Rusty is at a friend's place it certainly sees the light of day. She can't imagine how this conversation would go if Jack had a visual reminder of what Andy gets that he doesn't. Worse still if he had walked in on them naked.

"This is Lieutenant Andy Flynn" says Andy, all bravado, his chest puffing out just a little in challenge, and boy does she roll her eyes at that. "And I don't think you should be asking the questions, since you're the one who broke in here at three in the morning"

Andy moves to stand beside her, his arms finally relaxed, and Sharon doesn't know what to do. Part of her wants to hide behind him and pretend this just isn't happening, another wants to push him away so it doesn't look so incriminating. Mostly she just wants to sleep, because her adrenaline is wearing off and she can't deal with this in the middle of the night. She can already feel the tension headache building.

She looks at Jack's face, and she can see that he is every kind of devastated, and she knows that there really isn't mistaking what the bedclothes and matching guns mean. This is the exact opposite of what she pictured when she finally got around to telling her husband not to come back any time soon, or to expect a warm welcome.

"Excuse me, _Lieutenant_" says Jack, slightly less macho than Andy, but no less territorial. "But I think I should ask you why you're here with my wife, in my house-"

"This is not your house, Jack, this is my house, and who I have here is none of your business" she says, lowly and seriously, cutting off both men as she deals them her boss voice and glares for good measure. Jack shrinks back, just a touch, and she barely contains her smirk; she's still got it. "Why did I not get a phone call?"

"Who calls at three in the morning?"

"Why couldn't you have called before you left Vegas? Let me know to expect you?" she asks, putting her hand on her hip for good measure, because if he thinks he's going to charm his way out of this one he has another thing coming.

"I didn't think it would be a problem. It never was before"

"Listen pal-"

She spins towards Andy and places a flat palm on his chest, right over his heart, and looks at him dead in the eye, deeply and meaningfully. She can feel Jack's eyes on them, but she doesn't have it in her to deal with the two of them tonight, and makes a mental note to prepare herself for more confrontation tomorrow. Andy looks at Jack a moment longer, practically snarling, and then meets her gaze and immediately softens. She holds the look a moment longer, pleading with him to just fight his inner instincts and let her handle this. He stares at her, his eyes flicking between hers, and he gives a barely perceptible nod, and she feels him relax. She nods back at him, thanking him and reassuring him, her fingers twitching against his chest just enough for him to feel it.

She turns and faces Jack, who is unashamedly summing up what he's stumbled on; looking between the two of them like he's not sure which way is up. He must have figured it out by now, because he's not stupid, but there seems to be an element of denial in his look, and she genuinely feels sorry for him. Still, she really can't deal with all this tonight.

"Jack, you can have the couch" she says with finality.

"What about my room?" he asks, his voice lacking the fight it had before. She really didn't mean for him to find out like this, and feels infinitely guilty over it. She explained to Andy not long ago that she would always care for her husband; love him in her own way, though she is many years from being in love with him. But she knows too that Jack feels much the same about her-that Jack still holds a misguided and delusional hope that she will one day welcome him back, as though his mistakes could ever be forgivable.

"That's Rusty's room now" she says, not unkindly.

"Rusty?"

"I'm not doing this tonight, Jack" she says, shaking her head and giving him a warning look as she turns and takes a step towards her room. "We will have this discussion in the morning. You can take the couch. Goodnight"

"The couch?" he whines. He doesn't move towards her, and she is so grateful for that because with the way Andy is still eyeing him off she's sure it would only take a twitch for him to throw the first punch. He's never been particularly jealous, but this is her husband they're talking about, and she understands that he feels threatened. She might feel threatened too, if Andy's ex turned up before dawn with a spare key and some shopping, acting like she had every right to be in a house she doesn't own.

She only ignores Jack, turning back to look behind her.

"Andy" she coaxes. He still looks ready to jump over her counter and throttle her husband, and she really, really isn't in the mood to handle any bullshit, so only gives him another warning look and encourages him towards her with the barest flick of her wrist.

"Wait, he's sleeping with you?" says Jack, stepping forward to follow them around towards the living room. He seems to be referencing sleeping arrangements, but none of them are deluded enough to pretend he doesn't mean more, and she should be embarrassed, but she refuses to apologise for having a life that doesn't include him in it. She's never felt guilty before, and as sorry she is that it came to this moment, she doesn't feel it now.

"That's the idea" sings Andy, a smug little grin on his face, unable to hold himself back. Like a five year old bragging about his toy, she thinks. Jack is still in too much shock to process what he's seeing.

"Andy" she hisses. She is aware that Rusty is still mercifully asleep, and only gestures to her room like she's disciplining a naughty child. He goes, the grin still on his face mostly for Jack's benefit, though of course she knows he is so very happy to be able to finally tell someone that he got the girl. Sad, really, that the first person outside of their immediate little family to know is Jack. She mentally shrugs, the late hour finally hitting her. Andy walks just ahead of her.

"The linens are under the TV" she says to Jack, before turning and following Andy's swagger towards her room. Jack follows them around the corner, stopping near the couch.

"Wha- I, Sharon-"

"Goodnight, Jack" she whispers back to him.

Her bedroom door closes behind her with a deafening click.

She takes a moment to compose herself before she dares to turn around and look at Andy behind her. Her hand rests on the doorjamb, her head slightly bowed, her lips pursed, and she counts to three in her head and plucks up enough courage to spin and face him. She leans against the door, her hands resting behind her lower back, as she watches him put his gun on the bedside table, the safety flicked on.

"He still has a key" he says. It is not the opening line she expects.

She watches as Andy flings the covers open and slides back into his side of the bed, talking to her like he's mentioning what the weather is going to be tomorrow. For the very first time she can't tell if he's being deliberately nice or passive-aggressive; subtlety is not his usual style, but then the situation is pretty strange- he might not have any clue what to say to her, either.

"He's always had a key to this place. It was never really an issue until…"

She lets the sentence die, because she's not accusing him of anything, nor will she make excuses for the standing arrangement she had with Jack. Instead she walks to her side of the bed stiffly.

She slides tentatively under the covers next to him. She isn't afraid of him as such; she just fears that he might retreat into himself if she pushes him too hard. She lies next to him, on her side of the bed, stiff as a board, and when she feels his hand reach over and take hers, she breaths an audible sigh of relief. It comes out sounding like a high-pitched hum, soft and maybe a little bit desperate. He huffs in amusement, and then turns on his side to face her. She finally looks at him, and then turns her body as well, and he drops her hand in order to wrap an arm over her waist. She rests a palm over his chest, her bottom hand curled under her chin.

"You okay?" he whispers. His eyes scan over her face, cataloguing.

She pulls her head back, shock and awe on her face, and sizes him up. It's these moments that take her utterly by surprise, reaffirming the depth of his feelings for her. The long-lost husband with a key and legal claim just waltzed into her house like he owns the place, and Andy's first worry is whether she's upset or not. He realises he has surprised her, and so only grins as she takes stock of the situation.

She leans in and kisses him firmly. "Just fine" she says, shuffling herself down to fit against him and wrapping her own arm over his waist. "You?"

"Pissed as hell" he says. His tone is still light, but she can hear the tension underneath. "But we'll work it out in the morning" he dismisses. He yawns, big and wide, and utterly exhausted. "Now I just want to sleep"

She grins at him. At least he's honest with her, she thinks to herself. She'd be pissed too, and she doesn't blame him one bit, but she can't quantify how grateful she is that he's letting it go for the night and allowing her to deal with this her way. He knows she can handle this, and his faith is overwhelming.

"He won't be staying long" she says, her tone like a promise.

She hears him make a huff in acknowledgement. She squeezes his waist a little, and feels him squeeze her back. She turns onto her other side, disrupting their little cocoon, but allowing him to drape his arm back over her once she's settled her back against his chest. It's the position they often find themselves in anyway, on those nights when he hugs her in his sleep, so it's familiar and comfortable. Already she can feel the pull of sleep again. She feels him nuzzle the back of her neck, and then laughs silently as he gives an annoyed huff and lets her go just long enough to move her hair up on the pillow and out of his face. His arm comes back around her, and she hums. His lips kiss her spine, right where her shoulders meet her back, and his arms tighten around her.

"I love you" he whispers in her ear. She almost shivers.

"I love you too" she whispers back.

There is a fleeting moment where she thinks she ought to feel guilty, what with her husband sitting in the other room, no doubt huffing to himself. But it's been many years since she was blinded by that love, and many months since she realised that what she feels for Andy is no temporary thing. The deeper they get themselves into this mess, the more she realises that she is irrevocably in love with him, and he with her. Jack has his place in her heart, and always will, but his place in her bed was finished the moment she pushed him off to rehab. As she once explained to Andy, she loves him, but she is not in love with him. She thinks the distinction is an important one, because if she was still in love with him, this sleeping position would be awkward as hell, but instead it's the most secure she's felt in a long time, and that's proof enough for her. She'd forgotten what it was like to be with someone who keeps her steady, instead of with someone who constantly shakes her foundations.

Andy settles again, shuffling into the sheets, relaxed for sleep, and she does too, her hand lightly wrapped around his where it rests close to her heart.

Steady as a rock.


	25. Roll

_I've loved exploring the relationship between Sharon and Jack in discussions, and after the conclusion of the Jack storyline in canon it's been fun to fit this story around what we've learned about the man. Obviously, I've had to change some things and I felt that the change of circumstance would bring out different characteristics of the characters. Even so, I'd love to hear your thoughts on things, and I might write up a little explanation of my thought processes for these chapters if anyone was interested. I hope this chapter doesn't let me down. _

_As always, enjoy, and I appreciate any feedback I get._

_Pt. 2 of 2._

**Roll **

They've been home from work for all of five minutes and already she's snapped at the both of them, and she's sure that if she hadn't told Jack to go outside and get some air, she'd be calling in all units to break up a brawl on her living room floor. He is now pacing on her patio, looking between them and the view, a curious mix of heartbroken and furious.

Andy had been up and off to work before she could properly wake, sneaking out of her place without breakfast as Jack snored away on the couch. She hated seeing him go, particularly because he looked downright narky about it, but it admittedly made the morning a bit easier to deal with. She successfully intercepted Rusty in his waking moments, warning him of a visitor before he came charging into the living room wielding a lamp or something equally ridiculous. He had spent the morning eyeing Jack from around corners, but as usual their routine was a rush, so there hadn't been time to linger and ask questions.

Jack had tried to keep them longer- tried to mark his territory with easy banter and that natural charm- but they had been running late, and she had ushered Rusty out the door as quickly as possible. When Jack had called at her back about seeing her when she got home, she had only given him a dismissive wave of her hand. She knows he must have been annoyed all day about that, but after all, he was the one who so rudely interrupted her space; he was just going to have to deal with the fact that life didn't stop just because Jackson Raydor blew back into town.

She's standing with Andy in her kitchen now, just next to the dining table, and the scowl on his face is infuriating, because he's been in a mood all day over the case, and she doesn't want to have it out with him here with Jack looking on. They're both still tired from last night, and liable to say something they'll regret.

"I've tried to be understanding, really, I have" says Andy. "But I have to tell you I have a real problem with your husband thinking he can just waltz back in without so much as a phone call and take up residence in your living room"

"I understand completely" she says meaningfully, glaring at the floor.

"Do you?" he challenges with a huff, and she reels a little in shock at that, because it's not like she's particularly happy about being woken at three in the morning either. She's grumpy too. It's not like she enjoys having Jack come and go like the wind, simultaneously reminding her of why she fell in love with him and why their marriage fell apart. It's not like she enjoys revisiting all the hurt of the last twenty five years, and the last thing she wants is to put Andy in this position.

"What do you mean _do I_? You think I _like_ the fact he's here?"

"Well, I don't mean to sound rude, but you sure haven't kicked him out, and you haven't exactly cut that last tie and told him to stay the hell away. So no, I'm sorry, I don't know what to think"

Their whispers have turned into hisses as the anger escalates, and she is glad they aren't standing close to the glass because Jack wouldn't be above lip-reading, and he does not need to be a third party in what seems to be their first real fight. They've had quarrels before, and they argue all the time at work, but never like this, and never over something so big. She drags him further into the kitchen, and though Jack must surely be watching them, he stays outside, and she thanks her stars for that.

"What happened when you got divorced, Andy?" she asks lowly, brow furrowed, arms crossed.

"She got everything" he instantly replies with a shrug. He's bitter to this day, and for that she can't blame him. She gives him a pointed look, her head cocking to the side, and her eyes going wide as she silently asks him to work it out. He stares at her for a moment. "She got everything" he repeats, realisation slowly dawning. "Right down the middle"

She nods, her expression sad and a little bit helpless. "I told you once that I care about Jack, and it's true. I do care about him, and I don't want to see him tossed out on his ass. He is family, for better or worse"

He thinks she truly means that, no matter how ironic the repetition of wedding vows may seem. He is thankful that she doesn't say that she loves him, because he doesn't think his mood would accommodate that; he finds it difficult to sum up the man's actions and not want to throttle him, and he doesn't fully understand why Sharon allows herself to care about him when he only hurts her and the kids in the end. Perhaps, he thinks, she doesn't fully understand it herself. But family means everything to her; he sees it in the way she has so thoroughly embraced Rusty as her own, and the way she talks about her children. To be considered family by Sharon Raydor is not a small thing, he knows, and not something that can be easily discarded.

Her eyes turn serious as she watches him, her lips go thin, and he can see there is a fire raging inside her that he never noticed before. He can't explain why a swell of pride builds up at that, but he softens a little to let her know he's back on her side.

"But" she starts again. "I have worked very hard for over twenty years to separate him from me" Her gaze is serious, and unyielding, and for Andy the last big piece of this complicated puzzle falls into place with an almost-audible click. "This house, my pension, my children's college funds… all of that is protected by a set of very detailed legal documents, signed and sealed under my name. But it only works if we're legally separated- if we divorce, it's all split, fifty-fifty, regardless, because that's the law. And I have worked too long and too hard for the life I want, to have half of it be thrown away on a poker tournament"

He lets out a long puff of air and hangs his head, shuffling on the spot with his own arms crossed as she gives him a moment to take it all in and gives herself a second to calm down. She is irate in a way he's not familiar; passionate in a way he doesn't associate with her cool and calm demeanour. He senses there is a lot of heartache within her marriage, and a lot of regrets, and perhaps for a while there was a misguided notion that Jack would one day reform his addictive ways and come home. Perhaps in those early years she stayed married because she wished things would change. He imagines the lesson of experience has been an emotionally harrowing one, and is angry on her behalf for that.

She can forgive Jack for a lot of things. She can mostly move past the pain he has caused her, or at least come to peace with it. She can even act as intermediary between him and their children, as she has done for most of their lives as he drifted further and further away from them. But as someone who has worked hard and invested her money so wisely, she finds it difficult to stomach the fact that she could lose half of it to a man who would only squander it away in Vegas.

She has thought many times over the years that she should just divorce him and be done with it. Though she cares about him, she recognises that she hasn't loved him like a husband for a long time; divorcing him would have been the logical next step. But always it came back to two issues- her unyielding faith, and her money. Two sets of laws that govern them, and keep him irrevocably and infuriatingly tied to her. Plus she's never not cared about him; has never been driven by bitterness and hate like Andy's divorce was; the way that so many relationships sour. They never really _ended_, as such, there was just a series of steps drifting them further and further apart, until they were no longer two parts of a whole but instead completely unconnected. She thinks perhaps she should have explained that to Andy better, about the practical reasons she's still married as well as the emotional ones; she had wrongly assumed he would have filled in these gaps for himself. She's sorry for that now.

She lays a hand on his arm, a gesture like reaching out and pulling him back to her. His hand lands on hers. She lets out a breath she didn't realise she was holding. He doesn't pull her into him, and she's thankful for that, because it's awkward enough with her husband looking on. After a few silent seconds Andy sighs again, and they drop their arms.

"I should talk to him" he says.

"You?" She looks horrified. "And say what?"

"Give him the lay of the land"

"You are not going to start a fight with my husband-"

"Not a fight" he says, pacifying her with an eyeroll. "A talk. Man to man"

"Right" She doesn't look the least bit convinced.

"Look, I feel for the guy… sort of. Not really. But he just walked in to find another man where he used to be, and that's obviously shattering his finely-tuned delusions"

"You think you owe my husband an explanation?" she asks, incredulity clouding her tone as she raises one eyebrow at him, her arms crossing once again.

"I think it would go a lot easier on _you_ if you let me explain to him that I'm not here to use and abuse you"

"I don't need you to be my handler where Jack is concerned" she says, and she looks genuinely amused by the thought. "I've been dealing with him for over thirty years"

"Thirty?" he squeaks, momentarily distracted.

"From the time we met, yes"

They look at each other, and the mood is much lighter than it was before, and he realises that somehow, among all that, they managed to get through their first major disagreement, and he grins a little. She grins right back at him, but given the confused little frown on her face she has no idea what he's thinking, so he just shakes his head.

"Let me talk to him" he says again, softly, his eyes kind. "I promise I won't hit him unless he starts it"

She inhales deeply, and lets it out, and then gives him a little shrug of acquiescence and a matching eye gesture. He rubs her upper arm a couple of times and then walks away, hearing her make her way to the couch, no doubt to play referee. It's fine. He'd be nervous as hell too, in her shoes. Plus his reputation must precede him.

Andy slides the side door open and walks out onto the patio slowly, his hands in his pockets. Jack is leaning with his forearms against the railing, and even in the dim light Andy can see he's miserable. He wants to rage at the guy, because who is he to just show up out of the blue after how many years and start trying to control her life. But he isn't mad, because he kind of gets it, and he knows that at the end of the day Sharon chose Andy, not the man currently standing with his back pointedly turned towards the rest of the house.

"Just so you know, she didn't want you to find out like this"

"I know that. I know her" says Jack. He sounds a little bit defensive, but not as much as Andy expects from him, and that's surprising. He seems like the kind of man to fight for what he wants; to see another man and immediately throw down the gauntlet in challenge. Nothing about him suggests that he's had any kind of significant relationship since he was kicked out of their family home over twenty years ago. And yet every mention of Sharon softens him, and Andy can see that for all the man's bravado, and for all the mistakes he's made in his life, he adores his wife, and loves her to this day. He can see how a better version of Jackson Raydor could have been the love of Sharon's life; he can see the man he used to be so very long ago, hidden under years of neglect and abuse. Maybe it's because addicts have a way of seeing something more in the mirror than what they really are, or maybe because underneath it all Jack has a good heart. Either way, it doesn't really matter. There is no use living in the past, and Andy knows that the Raydor marriage is definitely in the past, along with all the heartbreak that came with it.

"Is she happy?" asks Jack.

Andy is surprised by the question. Surely he could lie, or give any version of the truth he wanted. Surely that question is one for Sharon to answer, not Andy. But then perhaps this is his way of reaching out and trying to understand. Perhaps this is the only way he knows how to give his blessing, and Andy thinks that's quite selfless of him, because if he was going to lose Sharon he thinks he'd play it as dirty as he could in order to hold on tight and never let go. If he was going to lose Sharon it would probably break his sanity, and he finds a deeper understanding for the man standing beside him now.

"I think so" says Andy with conviction. "She says she is, and Sharon has no reason to lie to me"

Jack looks suitably heartbroken over that, but nods his acceptance. They both look out over the neighbourhood. It's a beautiful view, more so at night, when the houses illuminate the hills and cast a glow. He loves this perch.

Andy thinks this is one of the strangest conversations he's ever had. It's almost friendly, and if it weren't for the fact that he was with the man's wife, he and Jack could probably be friends. He vaguely remembers the name Jack Raydor from years back when he was working full time in LA, back before he dropped off the radar. It's a small crowd really, the police and lawyer circles, and made even more so by the many years they've all been around. There are few old-timers left anymore, and a good handful of them are working in or around Major Crimes. It's no surprise he remembers the name, but he and Jack never managed to be particularly close back in the day; never managed to run in the same cliques, though they certainly had enough people in common. He's not sure why that was, but it just happened that they never sat in the same bars, and there's probably something deeply poetic about that. So he knows Jack in name only, and the few things Sharon has told him about their marriage and about their past. He wonders how much Jack remembers about him; about the hothead from Homicide with a bad temper and a drinking problem. He doesn't bother to ask.

Andy feels the other man shuffle next to him, shifting his weight with his hands in his pockets, and Jack clears his throat to cut the tension. He obviously feels awkward about something.

"You're everything she needs" he says quietly, nodding to himself. Andy doesn't ask how he could possibly know that. "I'm not. And that is really damn hard to accept"

Andy could just about fall over. He has to turn and look at him at that, because that's some admission he's making, and certainly more than Andy expects him capable of. "I understand" he says, and he really does. The hardest part about being a selfish person- about being one of those people who thinks they can always jump through traffic and not get hit- is accepting that while that lifestyle may work for you, it doesn't necessarily work for the people you love. He thinks Jack is only now realising just how much he needs to leave his wife alone to get on without him. It's taken many years, but his children are grown and his wife has moved on, and Andy hates to be the one to tell him this, but it's time for him to make peace with it.

"I don't know how to let her go" he says quietly.

"Can't help you there" replies Andy, shrugging and looking back over the balcony. He feels Jack turn to look at him. He lets him look, and keep his expression light, because the last thing Sharon needs is a shitstorm on her balcony, and Andy will give him one if he starts it, no questions.

"What do you mean?" asks Jack. He's challenging him, but when Andy finally looks at him, his gaze is wary, like he really needs some honesty no matter how hard it's going to hit him. He looks like a lost soul, and for a frightening moment Andy sees himself, and a life he could have lived had he not got himself straightened out all those years ago. He recognises that maybe that's why he dislikes the man so much, but he can't help that.

"I mean" he starts, sighing. "That if I'd had her back when..." He stops and shakes his head, dropping his eyes for a second, and he sees Jack do the same. That's not entirely accurate, so he starts over. "I mean- that if it was me… I would never have given her up in the first place"

He doesn't mean the drinking, of course, because he buried enough of his own sins with a bottle. He would never be so self-deluded as to say he wouldn't have started drinking. He means he would never have hurt his children, which is true. He would have come straight back from whatever rehab centre she sent him to and fought to come home; he would not have flitted between cities, making it easier and easier for his wife and children to build themselves a life that didn't need him in it. He would have slept on her doorstep until she let him come inside, and then slept on the couch if that's all she would give him, but if he'd known then what it was like to be in love with Sharon Raydor there is no way he would have traded drinking for gambling, and his family for a strip buffet. Especially if she was waiting for him to make that exact decision; waiting for that one sign that he could be selfless. His ex-wife never gave him that chance- not that he really deserved it- but boy, what he would have done with it. Sharon has given Jack a lifetime of chances, and he blows every one, and for that alone Andy resents him.

They look at each other then, long and hard. He can see Jack wants to be angry, and for a moment he is furious. For a single second Andy thinks he's going to punch him. But then he doesn't. He just looks back over the balcony with a huff, and then over his shoulder inside, where Andy knows Sharon is still sitting. No doubt she's keeping tabs on them, but he's glad she's staying out of this conversation. This is something he needs to say to Jack alone.

"I'm not going to justify my life to you" says Jack, defeated and defensive all in one.

"I don't expect you to"

"Then what do you expect?"

"For you to respect Sharon's choices" says Andy with an amount of indignation. "And respect that the outcome may not include you"

"Sharon's decisions will always include me-" Andy immediately goes to cut him off, but Jack holds up a firm hand with a serious look, and it's enough to stall him so Jack can speak first. "You have to know that by now. We are tied together-"

"Only in name" says Andy, grinding the words through his back teeth like it physically pains him to admit it.

"Not just name. You know how it goes" says Jack, wide eyes imploring him to acknowledge the connection. Andy freezes, and they look at each other for a long, silent time. Jack doesn't seem petulant about being honest as to why his wife hasn't served him with divorce papers years ago- if anything (and this is very surprising) he seems to almost look sorry for Andy. He looks like he wants to change what he's saying, but can't, because the facts are the facts, and Jack isn't a pragmatist, but Sharon most certainly is.

"I have a lot of things to be sorry for- a lot of mistakes that I regret" he says, very quiet. "But none more than breaking her heart"

Andy gives him a moment of silence to acknowledge what he's saying, but he's wary, and a bit confused. "If you asking me to feel sorry for you-"

"I'm not asking that" snaps Jack impatiently, waving his hand with an eyeroll. "I'm asking you to understand that… I get it. It's over, and she's moved on, and I'm really happy for her, I am, because I only want the best for her... Andy, if I could change the situation we're in, I would-"

"You can" says Andy incredulously; furious and frustrated in the same way as when he talks to some of the people at AA who won't listen to his advice. "What are you talking about _if you could_, you can, it's all of your own making-"

"It's not the debts" he says. "I've paid off most of the debts over the years, despite the bad credit. It's everything Sharon's worked for- it's all her money, her home, her pension" he says, and then he sighs, shaking his head. "I haven't earned a wage even half of hers in almost twenty years- there's nothing for me to offer in settlement. I can't do that to her- make her split it with me. And I know it would only go on the tables eventually anyway-"

"So stop" says Andy, his brow furrowed.

Jack looks at him with a resigned expression on his face and a sad look in his eye. "What did you replace your bottle with?"

For a moment the angry tension is palpable, and Andy could easily hit him. He doesn't hide his past, but he's not proud of it, and he doesn't want anyone, least of all Jack, to get the impression that Sharon jumps from one addict to the next. He's been sober about as long as Jack has; his hair stands on end at the sign of a challenge. He works hard every day to not have just one sip, and he is self-aware enough to steer clear of anything else that could cause the same problems in another form. He won't have Jack accusing him otherwise. Jack only stares at him, open and honest enough that eventually Andy eases up enough to answer. "Toothpicks" he says.

Jack nods, biting the inside of his lip. "I don't much care for toothpicks" he says meaningfully.

Andy knows that's about the most honest thing he'll ever get from the man; the closest to a confession of sins that he can give. He hears what he really means.

"So you see… I wish I could change it" he finishes. "But I can't. And I just want you to know that I'm sorry for that"

They stay silent again for a good long while. There has been enough honesty between them in the past few moments that Andy feels he owes him that much. He knows what Jack is saying, under all the denial and self-absorption. He's not a terrible person, not really, but he acknowledges his actions, and there's a certain courage in admitting those faults, so Andy stays quiet and looks out over the view. Jack is entirely unable to change himself; it a big admission to make.

"Tell me something" says Andy. "And be honest"

Jack turns his head.

"Did you ever try to… I don't know, make up for it all?"

It's a loaded question. He's not sure Jack is self-aware enough to be capable of atonement; sympathy and regret, certainly, but atonement requires a level of selflessness that Jack has yet to demonstrate, then and now, and Andy doesn't really think he would ever reach that place. But still he asks the question, because he needs to know that he tried. He needs to know that this man who claims so much guilt, and who professes his love for Sharon even now, at least did something, anything, to try and make it right.

"I bought my daughter her first pair of ballet pointe shoes" he starts with a distant smile, though by the tone of his voice he knows that's not much. "And for his school ball… I taught my son how to dance"

Andy remembers that he knew that. But it's a gesture, nothing more. He nods once, and then turns away. He hears Jack breathe out as he leans against the railing again, a completely defeated sound. He can't muster up the empathy; he feels sorry for him only as far as the man has no idea what he's missed out on by his own choice. Andy never got to choose the distance his ex-wife put between him and his children. Everything this man has done, he's done it to himself.

Andy steps towards the door and reaches for the handle.

"You take care of her" says Jack from behind him. Andy pauses, his eyes meeting Sharon's through the glass, and just the sight of her feels like coming home to a warm fire. "You take care of her like I never could"

Andy nods, his eyes still on Sharon, and he can see that she's summing up what their conversation has been about in the way he's looking at her; in the way he can't look away. She gives him half a smile, which he returns, and he can't take his eyes off her, so he doesn't bother trying. Something about this conversation has made him want to wrap his arms around her and stare at her forever. "I will" he says softly.

And then, without turning back, he opens the door and walks inside.


	26. Accent

_Let's just say that the 'will my dad or my stepdad walk me down the aisle' question is one I've asked many times, and so I'm just assuming some things with regards to Nicole's opinions. Thankfully, given my stepdad is now out of the equation, and Dad and I have gotten a little closer in the last few years, I've decided that if I ever have a traditional ceremony, my Mum will walk me down the aisle. Problem solved._

_Is anyone else recovered from Sharon's self-invitation to the wedding? Because I'm sure as hell not. _

_Anyway, enjoy, as always, and let me know what you think. You're a legend and I love you. _

**Accent**

She closes the front door with a sigh, dropping her bag near the table and her phone in the little tray on the table-top.

"Hi" says Rusty from the couch. He has a half-folded sandwich in his hand and a plate on his lap. She's too emotionally drained to bother giving him the usual warning about crumbs. She can tell he's being responsible about it anyway.

"Hi" she hums back. "You get home okay?"

"Yeah, the patrol car dropped me off about an hour ago after chess. Is he still sitting downstairs?"

"No, I sent him on his way when I got in" she answers, shedding her jacket and walking around to the kitchen.

"Cool"

"You hungry for dinner, or do you just want leftovers?" she calls, opening the fridge and peaking inside. There should be at least two serves of pasta in there, and she knows that Andy is coming over so she can always call him to grab something on his way.

"Leftovers is fine, if you don't want to cook" he calls back. He sounds a bit cautious, like he's trying to figure her mood. She knows she must look on the verge of snapping, but really it's just exhaustion, and the fact that she doesn't have to cook is a welcomed relief. She doesn't feel much like eating, but she pulls out a small container of salad and grabs a tuna tin from the cupboard. It's not much, but it'll stop her feeling hungry at bedtime.

"Is Andy coming over?" he asks when she makes her way back into the lounge. He looks positively alarmed when she brings her food and sits on the couch next to him, but doesn't say anything, and she almost cracks a smile.

"He is" she answers. She feels Rusty staring at her as she opens her tuna can and empties it onto her salad, and she tries to ignore the way he is so obviously cataloguing her. It's been tense between her and Andy since her husband left two nights ago, with nothing but a note on the table and a neat pile of sheets on the couch. She and Rusty had come home to an empty condo the day after Andy had spoken to Jack, and she's not sure what he said, but it worries her a little bit. Jack never left without a fight before; he always stayed his two nights and then tried to wrangle more. But his note had been a simple memo card, apologising for barging in and thanking her for the two nights she allowed him. He had left a pre-paid number for emergencies, but gave no indication if he was staying in L.A or moving back to Vegas, or maybe going somewhere new altogether. She hasn't bothered to call the number, but she's still uncertain.

In a rare show of cowardice she hasn't asked Andy about it. Their latest case has kept them busy and out of contact, except to liaise in the office with the team. She doesn't know how to find equilibrium with him again after being confronted with her marriage, though they are both more committed to this relationship because of it.

"Is he... okay?" he asks, looking down and away. She knows what he means.

"He's fine, Rusty" she answers kindly. "We've just been busy. And he's under a bit of stress at the moment"

"Is it because of Jack?"

She sighs and settles further into the pillows, putting her food on the coffee table and flicking her heals off. "Partly, I think. But also his daughter's wedding, his health, this case. It's just a busy time" she reassures. Rusty doesn't look completely convinced, but it's a show of faith that he drops the issue and accepts her word. He knows she would never lie to him, though she may try to protect him. She smiles, and is about to pick up her salad again when there's a light tap on the door.

Rusty looks at her, knowing she will get up to answer it, and then pointedly ignores her as she pads over to the door and opens it.

"Hey" she greets softly. There's a smile in her voice and a light in her eye; he is much the same, though looks equally exhausted.

"Hey" he says. A flush of relief spreads through her at the sight of his overnight bag in his hand. He steps inside and she closes the door behind him, and then he lightly snakes an arm around her waist and leans in for a kiss. For the first time, she doesn't give a hoot that Rusty is only eight feet away, looking quite intently at the television. She kisses him back rather desperately, and then tucks herself against him for a brief hug. He is happy to indulge her, and she knows without a doubt that they will be okay.

"Have you eaten?" she asks as she pulls reluctantly away. He steps over to her bedroom door and dumps his bag there.

"No, I came straight from work"

"There's some pasta in the fridge from last night, if you want that with Rusty"

"You don't want it?" he asks.

"I have my salad" she says, gesturing to her abandoned container.

"Okay, I'll zap the pasta then"

He walks towards the kitchen and she follows him, picking up her dinner on the way, and ignoring the way Rusty is so blatantly keeping one eye on them. She knows he only frets because he cares, and she thinks it's sweet that he's watching out for what is happening. She can only imagine that this instinct came from a time when he would have to monitor his mother's boyfriends closely for any sign of another fight, and that saddens her. She hopes she and Andy are providing him with a better role model than that. She thinks they are.

"Did you speak to Nicole today?" she asks softly as Andy is putting the pasta in two bowls. She holds up the container with the salad and eats a mouthful while leaning back against the bench. He sighs as he places one of the pasta bowls in the microwave, and doesn't turn to face her until he's pressed the timer and the humming starts. She noticed he took a few phone calls, and could see the tension in his shoulders.

"I still don't think it's a good idea for me to go. I can't stand her stepfather, and she's insistent that she wants him to walk her down the aisle too. I know I'll just end up punching him in the mouth"

She half laughs at him, because he's only fooling around, but she senses that he's at a loss for what to do, and she places the container on the bench behind her and steps closer to him, the hum of the microwave drowning out the low timbre of her voice. "What can I do?" she asks, cocking her head to the side. "Do you want my opinion?" she prods. It's a scary notion.

He sighs again and gives her a look. "I get the feeling I'm going to get it anyway"

"Only if you want it. If not, I'll butt out"

She doesn't sound affronted that he's being very private about all of this, and she doesn't look petulant. He is grateful for that. It's not that he doesn't want to include her; he does very much. But he's been on edge since Jack arrived and uncertain since the man left just as quickly, and the fact that she hasn't said a word about the visit is unsettling. He figures this is her way of reaching out to him, and recognises that he's being an arse about it.

"No, don't butt out" he says, softening. "It's not that"

She walks up closer to him. "Then what is it?" she asks gently, placing her hand on his arm. "What's the matter?"

The microwave dings loudly, and they startle apart. "Rusty. Food" calls Andy. He takes the bowl out and hands it to the boy, who disappears back into the living room in a flash, obviously satisfied enough by the lack of hostility to leave them alone. She's not sure if he's listening in or pointedly ignoring them, but it doesn't really matter anyway.

"Andy, talk to me. What is it?" she asks again, and he places the other bowl in the microwave to heat his own dinner. "What's the real issue here?"

He sighs again and closes his eyes, and when he realises she's not moving away he looks at her, half smiling, because she's a persistent thing, and it's a sign that she really loves him. He likes that.

"I don't know that I even belong there" he says, almost on a whisper. "And yet, there's nowhere I'd rather be"

"Why wouldn't you belong there?" she asks, brow furrowed. "It's your daughter's wedding"

"With everything else in her life I've missed…"

She hums out a sigh, her head ducking to the side in understanding, her eyes suddenly very sweet and a half smile on her face. She seems to understand exactly what he's saying, and he only belatedly realises that with her own history she has her own feelings on this. He could kick himself for being so thoughtless, but then she's never shied away from calling out Jack on being an absent father, and he truly thinks that all of her sympathy is for himself. He finds that overwhelming, and more so when she takes a step closer to him, rests her chest against his arm and props her chin on his shoulder. He feels her hand on his back rubbing light circles.

"Do you want to know what I really think?" she asks, meaningfully.

"Go ahead"

He internally braces himself for a thinly-veiled lecture. She straightens enough to stand straight again, but doesn't move her hand away from his back.

"Andy, I've been there- on the other side of this. I've watched my children be disappointed time after time, and I've watched my husband make up all kinds of excuses for why he couldn't go to their school events, their sport meets, their graduation. I've heard it all"

"Yeah. And?"

He sounds sharp and defensive; again she recognises that he's only shielding himself, and later he'll thank her for being that understanding, because not everyone has her patience, or is willing to wait out his moods, and he loves her that much more for it. He loves that she recognises his need to come around in his own time. He can't believe anyone would let her go, and is suddenly almost disappointed that he didn't get to punch Jackson Raydor at least once before he left town.

She sighs, and he looks at her, then back to the floor. "It never mattered that I warned them he wasn't going to be there" she continues. "It didn't matter what excuse he gave, even when it was a legitimate one" She gently urges him to fully face her, and she seeks out his eyes. "It didn't even matter that he was mostly an absent parent, or that he couldn't fully appreciate why an event was so important to them. None of that was important"

He looks fully dejected, but eager to listen. "What was important? To your kids, I mean"

She gives him half a smile and holds both of his arms, right near his shoulders, her thumbs circling there in comfort. "They only wanted him to be there" she whispers sadly. "They only wanted to share something with their father that they could never get back. And every time he couldn't deliver it broke their hearts a little more"

"So what, you're telling me I'm just adding this to the long list of ways I've hurt my kids over the years?" he snaps, shucking out of her grip and spinning on the spot. He doesn't leave, and although she's startled by his sudden anger, she holds her tongue and resolves herself to working this out. She knows that one wrong word will see him huffing right out her front door, and with things already strained between them, she's not sure how they'd come back from that.

"Andy" she starts, stepping close to him again. "This is not about you"

"Bullshit"

"It's not" she bites back. "This isn't about you, or Nicole's stepfather, or her mother… it's not about any of you. Do you know who it's about? Hmm?"

He huffs, but gives her an answer. "Nicole"

"That's right. This is her day. She's marrying the man of her dreams, in a gorgeous ceremony, dressed like a princess, and all she wants is her father there with her, to see her off-"

"Yeah, with that douchebag on her other arm"

"So?"

"What do you mean _so_, Sharon, she wants the both of us to give her away, do you realise what a slap in the face that is?"

"Andy" she says, softer than before. "Do _you_ realise how many people in your situation wouldn't have been asked to walk her down the aisle at all?"

He stops dead, frozen, and though she is genuinely fearful that she's hit a raw nerve, and he may just stomp out given his mood, she waits. She waits, and tries to pinpoint the exact moment he deflates completely, all his fight draining as he realises what she's telling him is true. Nicole's stepfather has played more of a daily father role than Andy ever did; it wouldn't be unreasonable for her to want him to give her away as a symbol of the man who raised her. That she's even asking Andy is a testament to the bond that lingers despite his mistakes. If she didn't care about him, she wouldn't have wanted him on her other arm.

"Nicole wants you to be there. Do you know how precious that is?" she implores. He can only imagine that her own children have long given up on their father, and the idea of never keeping in contact with his kids makes him feel ill.

"So what you're saying is… I should stop being an ass about this and just go"

She makes a noise that almost sounds like a chuckle, and then holds herself back, aware that he's still in a broody mood. "Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying" she says on a smile.

He sighs again, rolling his eyes to the ceiling and mulling it all over in his head. "Everyone there hates me" he mutters, shaking his head, but she takes that to mean that he's now going. It may be under duress, and with a healthy dose of reticence, but he'll go, because there's nothing he wants more than to be there for his daughter, and nothing he loves more than being wanted in the first place. It's not ideal, but he'll go.

"Do you want a buffer?" she asks. She closes the gap between them completely, standing almost flush against him, but with only her hand on his arm.

He meets her eye, and for the first time all night she sees the ghost of a real smile from him. "Is there anyone else I'd want on my arm?"

She grins, and lightly wraps her arms around his waist, a flood of relief pouring over her when his arms come around to hold her too. She sighs contentedly. He squeezes her tight and lets the last of his anger fade away now that he has his answer. Knowing that she'll be with him helps; he doesn't want to face it all alone, and she's a calming presence for him. Perhaps having her there will even make the night enjoyable.

"I know I'm being a complete jerkoff" he mutters into her hair. "Thanks for putting up with me"

She laughs into his chest, rubbing her hands over his waist in acknowledgement, before she turns more serious. "The last thing I want is to see is your relationship with your children turn out like Jack's relationship with his" She pulls away just far enough to look him in the eye, their arms still lightly around one another. "You're a better man than that"

He leans in and kisses her. She hums into his lips and returns it; it isn't passionless, but there is a sense of holding back in his touch, like he's still learning her again, and she resolves herself to fixing that. Besides, this is more of a thank you anyway; she understands that sometimes when he doesn't have words he just has to take action, and this action is just fine.

"Come on" she prompts when they part. "Grab your dinner and come sit with us on the couch" Turning her head towards the lounge she calls a bit louder "I believe Rusty found a movie you might like" They hear the volume go up a few notches, and muffled dialogue to a film he thinks he's seen before.

He hits the microwave for another few seconds, just to put the heat back in his reheated meal, and then when it's done they walk together to the lounge with their dinner in hand. Rusty has taken up residence in the middle of the couch, and scoots over just far enough for Sharon to slide in next to him while Andy takes the armchair. It's homely again, and familiar. She leans back and eats the last of her salad, careful not to spill it on the couch, content to watch the movie in peaceful silence.

Later, when Rusty goes to bed and they start packing up the house for the night, it turns a little bit awkward again, and there's a nervous tension in the air. She doesn't like it, and pointedly ignores Andy's eye as she makes her way to her room. He brings his bag inside and sets it down, but she disappears into the bathroom before he can say a word, and he just sighs and gets into his sleepwear in the bedroom. It feels strange to be out of synch with one another after so long of living in harmony.

She comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later, teeth brushed, hair down, nighty on. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, casually waiting for her before getting under the covers. She surprises him by walking around the bed to stand in front of him, and he looks up at her, suddenly looking much less tired as he takes stock of her and holds her gaze. His eyes are equally intense, and though they haven't really talked much about their own problems (if they even are that), she gets the feeling that there's not much for them to say; certainly not about her husband, at least, if that was the cause of this.

She stops right in front of him and his hands come up to rest on her hips, his thumbs caressing her lightly. Her hands come up and run through his hair, and then move over his ears and down to cup his cheeks. Slowly, reverently, she leans in and kisses him, firm and insistent, and feels his hands come around to hold the backs of her thighs. Her hands move around his shoulders and hold on tight. His tongue dances against her lips, and she lets him in with a moan.

She pulls away after a moment, a little bit breathless, and a few tears welling in her eyes. She doesn't know why she would cry now, but it could be relief, although logically she never doubted them. He looks much the same, and so she writes it off as the follies of fallible human beings and pushes his shoulders lightly back onto the bed. He loses his tee-shirt first, and she grins at him; he's getting the idea now.

He watches, enraptured, as she steps towards the door, flicks the lock, steps back towards him, and in one swift motion grabs the hem of her nighty and lifts it over her head. Her hair flicks over one shoulder as it snakes through the collar, and then she's standing there gloriously naked. He reaches for her and pulls her on top of him. Their lips don't break as they shuffle further up the bed, and he manages to open the sheets with one hand while the other palms her breast. They're getting rather good at this coordination thing.

She thinks that after tonight things might just go back to normal, and the thought is enough to put a smile on her face. He smiles right back, just before he flips her over and devours her breast, his hands roaming all over, and then she's fully in the moment and not cognisant enough to think much more. They do a lot of smiling, she's noticed, and in such effortless means too.

She intends to keep it that way.


	27. Wedding March

_Holy crap this is late. Sorry about that. Uni got crazy, work has been going through an absolute shitstorm, and my family have been throwing an inordinate amount of dinner parties lately, which has been lovely but also not conducive to fic-writing. Anyway, this one is obviously in response to the lj prompt 'weddings', as well as fitting perfectly into this little series. _

_To anyone who is still with me, know that I truly appreciate your support; you're a wonderful audience. To anyone who only found this now by luck, welcome to the nuthouse. _

_More fluff for you all. After the summer finale, I think we all deserve some fluff, no? _

_Enjoy, and let me know how I'm going, I always love hearing your lovely words. _

**Wedding March**

She can feel his eyes burning into her from across the room. Smiling politely at the story Nicole's mother-in-law is finishing, she excuses herself quietly from the group of women and makes her way across to the bar where he's standing. He's been avoiding the main room all night, and standing out of the way when he's there, but the tactic seems to allow him to evade anyone unpleasant, so she doesn't blame him for remaining scarce.

Some of the family have approached him- distant cousins and uncles who haven't seen him in so long they've forgotten what an unpleasant drunk he could be. It's now late enough in the evening that most people have had a drink or two, and so are more amicable, and after all, it's a wedding; a day to be happy. Mostly people have been giving him a wide berth, and Nicole was happy to see him but isn't dragging him along for a ride or forcing him into unpleasant conversations. It's been civil, and she can see in the way he's so relaxed that he appreciates that; that he's having a good time.

He smiles at her as she approaches- a warm, overwhelming smile full of lots of emotion- and she smiles shyly back; she is acutely aware of Andy's ex-wife eyeing them off from the group she just left. She's been catching the woman's looks and glances all night- not so much accusatory as they are genuinely curious. For all the anger still directed at Andy, the woman has been nothing short of polite to Sharon. She might have even been quite lovely at a different time, and under different circumstances.

"Stop staring" whispers Sharon as she comes to stand next to Andy at the bar, smirking at him all the same. "People will talk"

"If you mean _her_" he drawls, angling to whisper in her ear. "Then she started talking the second we walked into the church"

The bartender approaches, and so she relays her next order and then leans one arm against the bar as she faces Andy full on. He's nursing a cranberry soda, and the night has been smooth enough that she doesn't think he's been craving anything stronger, and she's grateful. She has faith in him and his ability to navigate the family; she doesn't trust what his ex might say to set him off though. For all her kindness towards Sharon, she's been positively hostile towards Andy.

"How is the wicked witch, anyway?" asks Andy, taking a sip and allowing his eyes to casually wander the room.

"I thought I was the wicked witch" she fires back with a smirk, picking up her drink with a polite nod and taking a sip.

He only chuckles at her. "Once upon a time"

It's been a long time since she's had an effigy of herself painted on a whiteboard holding a broomstick. The whole running gag makes her laugh now; to think she was ever so much of an outsider that they genuinely hated seeing her. She looks at Andy out the corner of her eye. To think they've come this far.

"She's been fine" she says airily, sipping her wine. "A little wary, but then you did bring a date to the wedding at the last minute" Andy hums in acknowledgement. It wasn't quite the eleventh hour, but it was relatively short notice for table arrangements. "Mostly she's just been sussing me out. I get the impression she's trying to decide if I'm really your date or if I'm hired by the hour"

He snorts inelegantly at that, shaking his head and giving her a look out of the corner of his eye. She grins. It wouldn't be a ridiculous notion to suggest, if they hadn't been all over each other all night. They sat close in the church, at the far end of the first pew, holding hands because Andy was genuinely choked up. She thinks it's sweet that he reached out for her support when Nicole was saying 'I do'; she knows she'll be a blubbering mess when her own children settle down. She looks forward to embarrassing them.

They haven't hidden their affection tonight. She thinks it's wonderful to finally be in a place where they can safely share their relationship; nobody here knows enough about their situation to say anything, not even Nicole. It's such a relief to hold hands and not have to worry about who might see them. She's made sure to take advantage of the situation. She even stole a public kiss from him as they walked from the church to the adjacent reception hall. It was decadent and rather bold, and if his look was any indication he'd gladly share it with her all the time. She knows there are many things he'd like to do with her all the time, most of them involving some sort of public display of affection. It's getting harder and harder to keep them a secret.

"You're too pretty to be a call girl" says Andy, his expression softening when he looks at her.

"I think that's an insult to call girls" she replies. The look on her face makes the rebuttal feel false; she knows she looks all kinds of sappy tonight, and doesn't much care, and isn't in the mood to tease. Frankly she wants to kiss him again. And then drag him home.

They don't notice the bright white dress walking towards them until she's right by Sharon's shoulder, and they both smile at the sly look on Nicole's face. She's lost the hair piece and has been finding the whole situation between her parents hilarious, now that she's safely down the aisle and into the fun part of the evening.

"If you two don't get out on that dance floor right now…" she starts. She gently pries Sharon's drink out of her hand and places it on the bar, and then gives her father a pointed look.

"Why aren't _you_ out there, tripping the light fantastic?" asks Andy.

Sharon has witnessed a bantering relationship between them all night- they seem to thrive on making jokes and teasing each other, and she thinks it might be the truce they struck in their rocky relationship. She often sees her own husband attempt that kind of levity with his own children; jokes taking the place of any kind of meaningful relationship, as though humour could distract anyone from the many betrayals. That Andy and Nicole's humour feels natural is testament to the forgiveness between them, and she smiles as she watches them. They are good friends now, at the very least.

"I've lost my husband. I think he had to go to the little boy's room"

Nicole looks positively gleeful over using the word 'husband'; Sharon notices the way she almost stumbles over the word, testing it in her mouth and mentally erasing 'boyfriend' and 'fiancé' with each passing hour. She hopes with all her heart that this is the last time the young woman will have to alter her way of thinking. By the way the couple behave together she truly thinks this marriage can last.

Sharon holds back a giggle as the younger woman almost stumbles over her own feet. She's obviously been drinking the bubbly tonight, and looks positively radiant, and Sharon wants to give her a quiet tip to not go too far- save some for tonight sweetheart- but it's not her place, so she stays quiet. She's not this girl's mother. She's not even her step-mother. She doesn't want to consider what it means that she's having these thoughts tonight. Weddings always did make her silly.

"Come on, papa-bear. You are taking this gorgeous lady for a spin on the boards. Come on, let's go, that's it put your drink there with hers, Bartender Gary will take care of them and make sure nobody slips you something nasty…"

Sharon and Andy laugh as Nicole practically manhandles them towards the dance floor, and they pointedly ignore the suspicious look Nicole's mother shoots their way, wondering what all the fun and commotion is all about.

"Who am I to say no to the bride?" says Andy, taking Sharon's hand and leading her on of their own volition.

"That's right. It's my day. You shall listen to me"

"Yes, sweetheart, I'm listening"

"Sharon, mind your feet"

And with that, she's gone, off to schmooze with other guests or perhaps find her new husband and demand a dance out of him. Sharon can only laugh deeply, watching Nicole go through the crowd. She feels Andy pull her into his arms. She looks back at him and sees that he's watching her face intently, a soft smile and a crinkle in the corner of his eye betraying how deep his emotions run. She smiles back, and she places her hand in his, and his arm shifts to the small of her waist.

"We have to stop meeting like this" he says quietly. She hums in acknowledgement, smiling as he starts to turn them in familiar steps.

"We do seem to find ourselves dancing a lot, don't we?" she replies, thinking over the several other times they've been like this.

"Maybe it's our thing" he says.

"Our thing?"

"Sure, why not. Couples have things. Maybe dancing is ours"

"Maybe it is" she concedes with a laugh in her voice and affection in her look.

"There are worse things that our thing could be" he says, shrugging his shoulder as he leads her in another spin. He doesn't seem to be conscious of the fact that he's deliberately turning his back on his ex-wife, so she doesn't mention it. "There most certainly are" she mumbles in response. It's still too close to Jack's visit to consider their alternatives.

They fall quiet as a slow songs starts, and she wants to roll her eyes at the cliché of it all, but it's so damn nice to be in his arms that she can't. Instead she rests her hairline against his jaw, and closes her eyes as he leads them slowly around the dance floor. Things have been wonderful again since Jack left; so good, in fact, that if she wasn't already married she'd be looking out for signs of a little black box. Again, she scolds herself for being so foolish, and for allowing herself to think that way. Not only is it impossible for her to divorce, at least for the moment, she's not even sure she'd want to be married again anyway. She's been too jaded by the effects of joint back accounts, joint property, joint debts. She doesn't know how to tell that to Andy in a way that is both honest and not hurtful. She thinks, though, that he's come to realise there are some topics that are off-limits. Marriage is one, whether that's because of Jack's reappearance or because he too is not looking to be married again, she can't be sure. She's not game to ask. Part of her wishes he'll be brave enough to bring it up, just so they can have that discussion. Another part of her is afraid that if he asked her anyway, she'd say yes, despite her logical reasoning against it, and the fact they couldn't make it official.

It's hard, though, not to consider the depth of their relationship when they're dancing at his daughter's wedding. It's hard not to get caught up in it all; in the sheer joy in Nicole's face when she finally locates her new husband and drags him onto the floor; in the soft way his eyes fall on her as he obliges. She can feel Andy smiling against her hair as he also spots them, and she is so pleased that she convinced him to come. She thinks he would have anyway, but he was adamant that she had a part to play in his decision, and she can live with that.

"I love you" he whispers into her hair, barely audible, and she sighs and squeezes his hand just a little bit tighter. They may not have rings on their fingers, but this right here is wonderful just the same. "I'm glad you made me come to tonight" he says, and she pulls back just enough to look at him as he's speaking. He's smiling, relaxed and content, and she thinks there are very few sights in the world she enjoys more than the look on his face as he's looking at her.

"You've had a good time?" she asks, though it's less of a question and more of a confirmation. She knows for a fact that he's had a wonderful time.

"I have. I really have. It's been a great day, all things considered"

"I'm glad" she says with a smile. "I think Nicole has loved having you here"

"I'm happy I came for her. I just can't believe my baby girl's all grown up"

"She's a married woman now" teases Sharon, and then she lightly rubs his shoulder when she sees that for all his joking he's quite emotional over it all. Tears almost spring up in his eyes, and she could laugh at him but she finds it sweet, and so she only offers him a look and he smiles back at her. They are rather good at silent communication.

"You know, Daddy…"

Sharon and Andy turn to look at the intruding voice as Nicole steers her new husband closer, never losing their rhythm so as to look subtle. Sharon doesn't think it's very subtle at all, what with the champagne that Nicole's been drinking, but it's a valiant effort all the same.

"Yes dear?" prompts Andy, quirking his eyebrow at her. Sharon holds in giggles at the whole scene. These two whether they realise it or not are quite similar in their mannerisms. Nicole seemed to have got the best of both parents; Sharon likes her. She tries not to consider what family Christmases would look like with her own children meeting Andy's and everyone sitting around a table. But with the way their relationship is headed, and the strength and resilience it continues to show, it's not a fantasy that sits outside the realm of possibility. She secretly hopes that it might just happen one day, and then shakes that thought from her head; too many dreams have been crushed on unrealistic expectations. What she and Andy have works well because they respect the boundaries. It won't do well to have them be ignored just because she's getting whimsical at a wedding.

"You two almost make me want to throw up" finishes Nicole, smiling at them both, her tongue resting between her teeth in a way that can only be described as cheeky. Yes, thinks Sharon, definitely cut from the same branch as her father.

"I don't know what you mean" says Andy, his thumb caressing the small of Sharon's back just enough for her to feel it; just enough for her to take his tone as a joke and not offence, not that she ever would.

"I mean, the father of the bride is not supposed to outshine the bride in the sexy-eyes stakes. That is to say, Andrew, that the looks you keep giving your girlfriend are going to light this floor on fire"

By the time she's finished speaking Nicole has rendered the other three speechless, and Sharon needs to hide her face in Andy's opposite shoulder to keep herself from giggling out loud. And here she thought they were being subtle. Nicole looks far too pleased with herself, and promptly leads her dance partner away again as Andy tries to pick his jaw off the floor.

He stutters for a moment, finding words, before he notices the barely-contained fit of laughter that Sharon is experiencing in his arms.

"You think that's funny?"

"She as a point" chuckles Sharon, lifting her head to look at him.

"I am not that bad" he replies indignantly.

"Honey, you kind of are a little bit"

"And you're any better?" he fires at her, his eyes wide.

"Probably not" she mutters, her grin turning into a smile as they continue to look at each other for a long while, only proving Nicole's point. "I love you too" she mutters, shaking her head at them both, and then she lays her head back on his shoulder to continue their dancing.

"You know" he starts, whispering in her ear again. "Now that I've showed my face at this party and had a dance with you… there are other things I love doing too"

He feels her shake with a few silent chuckles, and she rolls her head at his obvious intent.

"What'd'ya say?"

He punctuates his words with a kiss to her earlobe. She is so thankful that the dance floor is filled with other such loved-up couples, all slow dancing and staying close, or she'd feel thoroughly self-conscious over his attention. He's being very affectionate tonight, which is how she knows that being at weddings makes him just as sappy as her.

"I say one more song. I love dancing with you. We should do it more often" she says. She almost sounds sleepy, but really she's just that relaxed, and she does love the feeling of being in his arms.

"Maybe we will" he mutters.

She hums at him, and he only smiles down at her, thinking back to that first dance in her living room, and how he'd promised himself he'd make sure to do that every night. Perhaps he'll surprise her sometime very soon, he thinks, and recreate that night, with a few minor variations. He might even pay Provenza twenty bucks to take the kid out again for burgers so they have the place to themselves.

"One more song" he promises, his hand rubbing light circles on her back, and over Sharon's head he sees Nicole smiling at him, an honest and sober smile. He grins back, and a silent understanding seems to pass between them. Nicole really seems to understand in that moment just what her father's relationship is about, or at least part of it. She whispers something in her new husband's ear that makes him kiss her in reply, and Andy gives them their moment. Weddings always bring out the lovers, he thinks. He plants another kiss on Sharon's hairline, and she hums at him just as the song is winding down.

"Let's get out of here" she says, pulling back to look at him almost shyly.

"You sure you don't want another song?" he asks. He really wouldn't mind; after all, there are worse places to be than wrapped in her arms.

"I want you" she whispers back. He thinks that should sound sexy, and there's no doubt there's a certain intention in her words, but there's also a look in her eye he can't place. An honesty and a truth that rings true far beyond just sex, or a fun night out, or anything else they've done together. There's a depth to her simple statement that comes through in her look, and he kisses her quickly and softly in response, his thumb resting lightly on her chin.

"Then let's get out of here" he says.

She nods, and starts to lead him in the direction of the coat room. Once they've gathered their things they say warm goodbyes and good wishes to Nicole, and a quick acknowledgement to her mother. Nicole says that they should catch up and have dinner soon, which puts a smile on Andy's face so wide he might break. She insists that Sharon come along too; it's far more domestic than she was expecting.

They walk out to Andy's car hand-in-hand, their whole bodies aligned together from hip to shoulder, no words needed. When they reach his car, before he opens the passenger door for her, he spins her to lean against it and brings his other hand up to cup her jaw. Her hand still clutched in his tightens just fractionally and she lets out a noise not quite loud enough to be a hum, just as his lips plant on hers for a long, slow kiss.

"I mean it, you know. I love you" he says when they part. He's looking at her fiercely, in that way he does sometimes, and she feels like he's taking a moment to soak her in and hold on tight. She always feels a thousand emotions in those looks. She can tell that he wants to say something that might be profound or might be foolish, but either way right now is the best time to get it off his mind; she's so pliable to him right now he could suggest almost anything and she'd go along with it.

"What?" she asks, cocking her head sideways, watching him as he watches her.

"It's just…" He shakes his head as he finds the words, his hand tracing her jaw, his thumb running over her lips, his brow slightly furrowed. "I think that if things were different… if I was allowed to… I probably would've asked you to marry me tonight"

She can't help the gasp that escapes her. It's not as shocking as she expected it to be, the admission that he has been as caught up in this as she is, but it still knocks the wind out of her. She finds it difficult to reconcile the war within herself; the immediate barrier she tries to throw up between them even as her heart sings at the fact that he has all but proposed. She holds his look as he takes stock of what this confession has cost him.

"Andy" she breaths. He must see her conflict written on her face, because he only gives her a soft and understanding smile- just a twitch of his lips. They look at each other, and she realises he is waiting for her to respond. She runs her free hand over his jaw, and then around to the nape of his neck. "I think if things were different" she starts, shaky and overwhelmed. "I would have probably said yes"

He can only nod. Even if she wasn't still married, which she most decidedly is, there is still the issue of their relationship being forbidden. They're not naïve enough to ignore those facts. So he only nods slowly, obviously happy with her answer, though not hopeful over it. It's a hypothetical, but nothing more; they both know that, and they both revel in the possibilities without running away with them. It's enough to know they're on the same page.

She pulls him into another kiss with her hand on the back of his neck; passionate and suggestive and full of desperation. He holds her tight around the waist, leaning her back against the car door, a small whispering moan escaping her as she feels his fingers digging into her back. The many possibilities they could be living stretch out before them and then whither, and he holds her just a fraction tighter as he revels in the fact that they at least have this. And it's wonderful.

She moans again as they part, a high-pitched sound. "I love you too" she whispers. "Now let's go"

"Yes ma'am" he says, pulling the door open for her and seeing her settled into the car.


	28. Minor Interval

_Inspired by the prompt from NHas 'The new head of FID shows up. It's been a long time since you gave me your list, but I promise I haven't forgotten all the prompts you gave me. _

_Thank you to all my readers. If you're still with me you are very patient. To all my reviewers, I'm sorry I don't have time to reply to everyone, but please know I treasure every word- you're all very special to me. _

_I hope you enjoy this chapter. After the last one, we're back to business a little bit, but with all the canon to work with, I thought it best to at least mention some of the hot topics. Let me know what you think- whether I should be including more of this stuff or keeping it all fluffy and smoochy and schmexy. _

**Minor Interval**

They're all sitting in electronics, monitoring a suspect, when Sanchez cracks their case wide open; their suspect was not out with his girlfriend that night, because he is in fact openly gay (and only recently so). It's a huge change to his story- to the façade he's been portraying to them- and Sharon can't help but feel a little sorry for the young man, that he's had to accept this about himself in the middle of a police investigation. Even so, it's their job to find the truth regarding a brutal double-homicide, and they can't allow his false alibi to stand in the way of that.

She's still lost in thought when she snaps out of it and notices it's just her, Andy and Provenza left in the room- everybody else has run off to make sense of their case in light of the recent revelations.

"Well… that was interesting" says Andy, rocking on his heals with his hands in his pockets, standing just behind her shoulder.

"Poor kid. Coming out like that" says Sharon.

Provenza hums, nodding slowly. "He reminds me of Rusty" he says, looking thoughtfully at the monitor.

"How so?"

"Lost… a bit confused. Like he doesn't quite fit in his skin"

She nods along, suddenly understanding why she connected so strongly to this particular young man. She can recognise the resemblance now that it's been spelled out for her, metaphorical though the comparisons are.

"You think he's... you know, of the other vocation?" prods Provenza, curious but not cruel, wanting to know in the same way an uncle might ask for the family updates; in a way that is not malicious.

"Who, Marcus?" she asks, looking confused for a second as she looks at him and then back to the screen.

"Rusty"

Her mouth forms a little 'oh' of understanding, and she ponders that question for a moment. She hears Andy shuffle behind her, possibly uncomfortable with the conversation, or perhaps curious, she can't tell.

"I think" she starts, slow and deliberate; measured in her usual way. "That he's just figuring things out, and we should give him the space he needs to do that"

"Do you have any idea?" asks Andy. He has his own thoughts, but is interested to hear what she thinks, given she spends so much more time with the boy.

"Well... no, not really. He's trying to strike a balance with Kris, and she keeps pushing him for more than he's comfortable with" Andy makes a huff behind her, and she knows that he wants Rusty to do something about that situation, but she's warned him to stay out of it and let them work it out. It's another lesson she can't rob Rusty of, hard as it is, and though she keeps pressing Rusty herself she knows Andy would be a little too heavy-handed in his approach. Andy doesn't like that assessment, but he respects it. "Honestly" she continues. "I think he's too busy trying to keep everything else together to worry about where on the Kinsey scale he sits"

Provenza nods, the whole idea a bit foreign for his age, but he is open and accepting all the same, because he's been a cop long enough to have seen it all.

"But I would not be surprised" she adds. Provenza nods again, remembering the time they spied on the children, and the gut feeling she had shared then. He hauls himself out of his chair, clapping his hands on the chair arms as he goes.

"Well" he huffs. "I better go check on those phone records again, in light of our new information"

"And I'll help Tao go over the security footage, see if we can find our elusive second witness" adds Andy, moving to the door with Provenza.

"Okay, you let me know if you find something" she calls to the both of them. They just wave her off, and she smiles. They really are thick as thieves; she knows they're headed to the break room first to get more coffee. She hopes in Andy's case that it's decaf or even herbal tea if he can stomach it.

She makes her way to the murder room, and decides not to ask anyone for an update just yet. They'll come to her when they have new information. Instead she walks to her office and closes the door, sitting at her desk to continue going through files that are piled there.

Andy and Provenza walk by her window not long later, and she smiles when Andy briefly meets her eye through the blinds, quick though the action is.

He stops by his desk and sets his decaf coffee down while Provenza sits with his own coffee and pulls the phone records out of his draw. A second later he looks up and mutters a warning sound under his breath.

"What?" asks Sykes, the only one to notice.

"Broward the Coward just walked in. That can't be good" he mutters back, watching a middle-aged man in a pretentious suit saunter towards Sharon's office.

"Lieutenant Flynn, in here if you please" calls the newcomer, paying no attention to the rest of the squad.

"Oh shit" croons Provenza, one part amused, one part worried. It's been a while since anyone from FID came down to harass them, and he knows for a fact that Andy has been keeping in line lately, so can't think of any good reason bar one why Captain Broward would be walking through their murder room like he owned it.

Andy gives him a quick look- very much like a lost puppy- before he follows the man over to Sharon's door. Broward has already knocked and is in the process of opening it as he approaches, and they both disappear into the room, the door closing firmly behind them.

"What's going on?" asks Amy. Provenza can only shrug his shoulders, and watches as the blinds get closed to ensure complete privacy, an ominous sign if ever he's seen one.

"Is that necessary?" asks Andy from behind the blinds, watching with a critical eye as Broward gestures to the chair in front of Sharon's desk. Andy ignores him, preferring to be the same height. It's irrational to think of the FID as enemies, given whom he's currently sharing a bed with, but Broward is the infamous replacement that Sharon herself can't stand, and he doesn't want to consider what that means. Sharon watches through her glasses from behind her desk, her expression unreadable, and Andy is very wary.

"What is this about, Captain?" she asks. There's steel in her voice that shows her displeasure at being cornered in her office like a criminal in a cage.

"I've been talking to Jules Cantone, you remember him?"

"The name sounds familiar, yes"

Andy fights back a smirk- if she remembers the name she most certainly remembers every detail about the person. That's she's holding back is a sign that she's digging for more information. Broward seems to have no idea of this fact, and that amuses Andy endlessly.

"I came down here to talk to you first, before an official line of inquiry is started and it goes on record that you were accused" says Broward. He looks respectful enough, though the hands on his hips suggest he's someone who is used to being in charge, and is finding it difficult to not merely intimidate Sharon directly.

"Well, thank you for extending us the courtesy" she says, and Andy can hear the bite in her tone despite the thankful look on her face. "But why are you still standing there if you're here on the word of a corrupt police officer? I assume you're here because of a corrupt police officer, otherwise why would you have gone to all the trouble with the dog and pony show?"

Broward and Sharon share a long and meaningful look between them, which frankly puts Andy on edge. He doesn't know this guy from a bar of soap- has never dealt directly with him- and he can't decipher if the relationship between him and Sharon is one of respect or resentment. It's very unnerving and makes him feel like the third wheel, neither of which puts him at ease. Sharon playing dumb is not a person that he's familiar with- Broward seeing through it is surprising; he ignores her obvious prod for information and continues with his line of questioning.

"You know I have to ask..." starts Broward, looking unconvincingly remorseful, as though it's an emotion he's practiced in a mirror rather than actually feeling for himself. "Because this guy Jules was very specific- mentioned you both by name and description. Of course, his accusations also included that Taylor was peddling dope over the border, but you two- he was rather detailed, and I have to ask-"

"What?" she clips. Andy stands silently with his arms crossed, watching intently from his place across the room.

"I don't want to back you into a corner-" says Broward with false sympathy. "-but this is on record so-"

"What're you saying, Broward?" drawls Andy, frowning as the man simultaneously jumps and draws himself to full height at the third party intrusion, as though he'd forgotten Andy was even in the room. "Spit it out- what are you really asking?"

"I'm asking how long you've been bang the boss, Flynn" he snaps back. By the look on his face he realises too late just where he is and who he's speaking in front of.

"That's enough" barks Sharon, suddenly furious, standing with lightning speed, her fists planted on her desk as she leans over the top of it. "Captain Broward" she starts, her voice going quiet in malice. "The next time you come in here and accuse me or my people of conduct unbecoming, you better have more than a rumour and a convicted drug trafficker's parting shot, do you understand me?"

Broward takes a moment to meet her eye and sum up just how mad she is; realise that she called his bluff in the first few seconds of this meeting, and has been playing along to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Yes ma'am" he drawls. He is quite restrained now, and the mood swing is jarring, except Andy gets the impression that half of his cagey attitude earlier was all part of his act. They are of the same rank, Broward and Sharon, but being more recently promoted puts him in the junior position. He knows that a long career in FID has assured her good standing and a lot of friends; she will not be bullied or intimidated like an officer less familiar with the process. His sudden reticence reflects how much he secretly fears her wrath. Andy thinks some of that must also be genuine respect too, which is surprising given his earlier cocky attitude.

"Now, I suggest you return to your officer-involved investigation and quit bothering my squad when we're trying to solve a double murder" continues Sharon, her tone more than merely suggestive, her look razor-sharp. "And if you even think of going above my head with your line of questioning I will not hesitate to bring the full weight of a harassment charge against you, do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal clear"

Broward doesn't look completely pacified, but at the mention of a harassment charge he loses some fight, and Andy gets the impression that she has dirt on this guy that could seriously damage his career.

The two ranking officers look at each other long and hard. It is obvious she hasn't outright denied the allegations, because the last thing they want to do is perjure themselves. But Broward seems to understand that he shouldn't push her because she'll only push back and harder. Whatever she knows about him is obviously more serious than an allegation of a relationship that has yet to even register with their colleagues, let alone affect their work.

"I can't believe you of all people would come in here and ask me that" she says to him almost kindly, but with a tone underneath like a warning.

"That's exactly why I came myself, Sharon" he replies.

Andy's eyes go wide. He is momentarily startled by the familiarity between them, and the way they are looking at each other with a mix of fondness and hostility; an odd combination that raises more questions than it answers. There is a history between them that intrigues him. He wonders how this guy came to be in FID, and how he took over Sharon's position; if there is something she can hold to question regarding his conduct. There is an implication in both her words and the way she says them that this guy has been in a similar situation as them. Andy wonder's what could have possibly happened that he's letting this line of questioning drop at her simple insistence.

"Don't come back to me with this again, John" she says softly, shaking her head.

Broward only nods at her, his eyes on hers, before giving Andy a quick look and then walking swiftly out the door, closing it again behind him. Andy continues looking at the door for a long while after he's gone, hearing Sharon settle herself back in her chair.

"What the _hell_ was that all about?" he asks, spinning to face her and then plonking into a chair on the other side of her desk, a very confused frown on his face.

"Something that goes way back- well before I knew you"

"Well obviously. You two seemed very chummy"

He doesn't mean to sound like a petulant child, but she gives him a reproachful look anyway, letting him know that he's being ridiculous.

"We were friends once" she says, as though that answers any of his questions.

"Not so much anymore?" he mocks. He's still reeling over what just happened; in all honesty he doesn't even know what just happened. One minute he's sure they're about to be hauled in for interrogation and thrown out on their asses, the next the guy is walking out without a word. It's positively bewildering, and the look on his face says as much.

"Oh, knock it off Andy. He was a colleague in FID. He screwed up and I helped keep him out of hot water. He owes me, and I just cashed in, what else would you like me to explain?"

Andy looks at her, confused as to the reason why she just reacted so violently when any other time she would ignore him. She seems upset by something beyond the immediate situation.

"What?" he prods. She meets his eye and notices his shift in focus. She sighs and runs a hand through her hair, leaning back into her chair, crossing one leg over the other as she relaxes a little.

"I'm concerned that Jules Cantone has been speaking to someone in FID about our relationship"

"If it was serious wouldn't Broward have demanded a statement?"

"Yes" she concedes. "But it's enough that he came down here to warn me"

"That didn't sound like a warning; that sounded like a cross-examination. That guy was really your friend?"

"He wasn't always such a pompous ass" she says, smirking at him. "Besides, I seem to be a sucker for the underdogs"

"What're you tryin' to say?"

She turns thoughtful again, ignoring him, and then meets his eye once her thoughts have settled. "I'm concerned that a drug trafficker has been making allegations that are detailed enough to warrant a personal visit instead of a simple phone call"

"I wouldn't worry about it" says Andy, waving a hand in the air. "Even if Taylor gets wind of it, he can't insist on an investigation into our conduct without also looking into the allegations that he's, what, _peddling dope over the border_" recalls Andy with an affected voice.

"Even so, it's enough to know the accusation is out there. There's nothing stopping Taylor from keeping a closer eye on us-"

She breaks off just as her door opens quickly and Provenza steps through, closing it again behind himself like a child with a conspiracy theory.

"I'm assuming there's only one good reason why Coward came down here, and you two are in the thick of it" he says by way of opening, pointing at them both while looking at the obviously closed blinds, ostensibly checking they are still so.

"What do you mean?" asks Sharon. She's too distracted by his sudden appearance to maintain any façade of seniority; this is obviously a more private conversation anyway.

"I mean, I wouldn't worry about Taylor" he says meaningfully. He must have caught the tail-end of her comment.

"Why?" asks Andy.

"I have a reasonable hunch that our dear Chief couldn't give a rat's ass about any- _allegations_- about you two, just so long as our working environment remains up to professional standards"

He has a quirky smirk on his face and a glint in his eye. She wonders just how he can be so confident, and then decides she really doesn't want to know. Once again she's thankful they have Provenza on their side.

"And according to this _hunch_, just what does Taylor already know?" she drawls. They're far beyond pretending that she and Andy aren't happening, at least between the three of them; she doesn't bother to veil it as a hypothetical. After all, he's been there since the start.

"He doesn't know, he doesn't want to know, he doesn't want to hear a word"

"That doesn't sound like him" says Andy. He shoots her a questioning look, and she can only shrug her shoulders, agreeing with him.

"As far as Taylor is concerned this team works well, and our positive results make him look good. Short of a class-action suit brought against the department, he has his fingers in his ears, singing lalalalala"

Provenza looks absolutely gleeful as he talks to them. She gets the impression that this is not new information; that he's been waiting for the right opportunity to bring it up. She wishes he would have told them sooner. It would have saved a good deal of stress and a few restless nights, knowing their boss actually couldn't care less, so long as he never sees them making out in the hallways.

"There you go- nothing to worry about" says Andy, clasping his hands in joy, a grin on his face.

"Don't tempt fate" she mutters, but even she can't deny herself a small smile. Seeing Broward in her office sent her reeling back to a time when she had none of this; when she was isolated in FID, with only her immediate colleagues as friends. Back when her focus had been raising her children, not catching murderers and running leads. It was a good time, for the most part- it certainly afforded her the life she wanted outside the office. But it was a jarring experience to suddenly be on the other side of the desk and talking to a former friend like he was the enemy. She now gains a little more understanding for the squad's attitude towards her in the early days.

"So, in light of the fact that neither of you are going to be thrown in lock-up any time soon, I propose drinks tonight- the usual"

She gives Provenza a look- it's a school night, and despite assurances that a single threat is no big deal, she likes to have Rusty close.

"One drink won't hurt you" he says when he sees her having an internal war. Andy grins at her like a little kid. She nods her head to the side, reluctantly agreeing. One drink before going home won't hurt anyone.

"Just remember you have to be back here bright and early tomorrow. The last time you proposed drinks it was less than pretty"

"How would you know? You left early"

"I have pictures"

Provenza turns to Andy with a frown. "You dibber dobber"

"Are you kidding? Those pictures were priceless"

"There's more than one?" asks Sharon, her eyes going wide. She still has that picture Andy sent her saved on her phone. She likes to look at it when occasionally, just for a laugh.

"None that you're seeing" says Provenza, pointing a finger at Andy, who only laughs at him.

"Alright, tonight, if we get everything done here. Speaking of which, off you go you two, we're here to work. Go on, shoo"

Both men make their way to the door, and Andy pauses and smiles at her just before disappearing out the door. She smiles back, and then breathes a sigh of relief once he's gone. It's such a weight off her shoulders to know they're okay for the moment. Provenza's comments about Taylor are intriguing, but not overly surprising. The amount of times she's investigated officer relationships is innumerable; the amount of times the boss knew something but chose to ignore it equally so. As long as the department continues to be efficient Taylor has no good reason to go snooping for snooping's sake.

She grins again to herself and then refocusses on work. If she can keep their heads above water, they might just get everything they want after all, and isn't that something to smile about.


	29. Tango

_Somebody called for smut? _

_So, although this chapter fits well within this AU, and is therefore posted as such, it is literally only shameless smut and nothing more. It is here to answer the call of a post on tumblr that was rather despondent at the lack of Sharon/Andy action in fanfic. This is the definition of PWP. Some schmexy times, just to make you all smile. _

_**WARNING: Rated M (obviously).**__ Chapter can stand totally alone; there are no plot bunnies here whatsoever. All you need to know is they are an established couple._

_As always, enjoy. _

_**Tango**_

She wonders, as he closes the door behind him, pulls her close, spins, hoists her against the door, pins her hands above her head and begins to lavish kisses against her throat; at one point during all that she wonders what he's done about Rusty. The boy can't walk in and see them like this; he'll have a heart attack. She tells him so, on a breathy moan just as his tongue licks the divot at the base of her throat.

"Taken care of" he whispers, shifting to pin her hands with only one of his own so the other can explore. She feels him trace her throat with just his fingertips, the touch feather-light and far more effective for being so. She shivers, his lips lightly caressing the point of her collarbone. His hand lightly moves down her neck and down her chest; his touch gets lighter and lighter until it's just a whisper against her skin. It reaches the edge of her top- a low scoop neck that rests just above the hint of cleavage and looked rather lovely under her jacket today- and his fingertip trace it in tiny circles, his palm almost touching her breast, but not quite. He leaves it up to her deep breaths to push her nipples just far enough to ghost across his palm. She almost moans, but it gets caught in her throat when he simultaneously sucks on her jaw, not quite hard enough to leave a mark.

And then suddenly he's gone.

She slumps forward, and just barely catches herself from falling over completely. She drops her arms and steadies herself against the door. She comes back to her senses just in time to see him disappear around the corner and into her kitchen. He's positively swaggering.

"What the fuck" she breaths, blinking rapidly, trying to calm her rapid heartbeat and her shaky breath. It has been a very, _very_ long time since someone kissed her like that- even him; even during their hottest foreplay. It's been over a lifetime since she was comfortable enough with someone to allow them to be so forceful- to take the lead so decisively that she is literally pinned, no matter how easy it would have been to push him away. She can't remember being so worked up so quickly; so ready to go without an ounce of warning- the last time must surely have been when she was a teenager getting drunk on cheap tequila at her cousin's house party. The fact that they ostensibly have the place to themselves and can be as outrageous as they like probably helps; the fact that she's been thinking about riding him all day probably doesn't hurt either. (She can't help it- a week since they've had sex and then evidence tapes full of soft core porn have left her with a filthy mind, and she's only human).

She glares after him, a few moments too late to be in any way effective, and then follows him into the kitchen. She rounds the corner to see his arse hanging out of the fridge like he owns the joint, and her hips sway as she comes up behind him quite suddenly, lays herself along the length of his back, wraps her arms around and down along his front, and places her hands on the tops of his thighs, her fingertips kneading him just enough to elicit a hitch in his breath. If she could see him she'd know that his eyes also slip closed at the sudden sensual contact.

"That wasn't playing very fair back there" she husks into his ear, flexing her toes just enough to lengthen along his back a little more. "I may have to pay you back for that" Her tongue darts out, and very slowly she licks at his earlobe, the tip of her tongue flicking back and forth… "later"

And then, like he did to her, she steps away.

She doesn't leave him though, wanting to watch how he pulls himself together; wanting to see if she has the same effect on him that he does on her. She grins- a wicked look on her face- as he lets out a breath and then looks at her over his shoulder. There is nothing in his hand, and she knows that he was leaving it up to her as to whether they have some dinner first. Frankly roast veggies is not what she wants to be eating.

When he sees the look on her face he straightens and turns to face her. She has her tongue caught between her teeth and is backing slowly to lean against the bench. Her feet are bare and make no sound as she pads across the floor.

He spins and looks at her fiercely, absently closing the fridge door behind him. His look is nothing short of predatory. She can feel the intensity of his from where she's standing; she's still keyed up from his initial attack against her front door.

"How about paying me back now?" he asks, taking one deliberate step forward. She can practically feel her eyes darken with desire; she knows she's hiding nothing from him.

"I thought you were hungry" she says with an affected voice, innocently looking at the fridge as he takes another step towards her.

"Oh, I am" he rasps. He takes a final step that brings his body up to hers, aligned from thigh to stomach as she leans back a little over the edge of the benchtop. Her hands are planted either side of her lower back, and his come to rest against the bench between hers and her hips. She is effectively in his arms. She is still grinning at him, though it morphs into a smirk as he inches closer, so slowly, his breath deliberately brushing across her lips.

"And just what are you hungry for?" she whispers.

He smirks at her, his hips pushing into her just a fraction more. "Guess" he whispers back. Her eyes slip closed and her breath hitches as she feels his lips get impossibly closer to hers without touching. She can feel him getting hard against her lower stomach. It's the headiest aphrodisiac she's ever known. He still won't kiss her.

His hands move to her hips, holding her, his thumbs caressing the edge of her skirt. She still doesn't move, and he seems to understand the game she's playing, because he stays barely an inch from her lips, teasing her. A small whimper sounds in the back of her throat; she didn't mean to let it out, but she can't help it all the same. She can feel the smug bastard smiling, but she doesn't really think he has the upper hand, because she can still feel him hardening against her, begging in his own way for her to reciprocate.

"You're going to have to be specific, Lieutenant" she says, her voice so low it rumbles in her chest. "What are you hungry for?"

He growls- actually growls, which does things to her ego that she never knew could happen- and then moves his cheek to rest against hers, his mouth against her ear. His body is now flush against hers, leaning over her, and god does it send her pulse racing.

"How much do you like these pantyhose?" he whispers, sounds a little bit ridiculous for asking about her underwear in such a straightforward manner, but her answer is really going to dictate just what he does next.

"You are not ruining any of my clothes tonight" she says, teasing but firm. As much as she'd love to be bent over backwards in her kitchen, they're not twenty, and she can't guarantee him a lasting night of fun. And besides, if he has truly organised for them to have the place to themselves, she is all for the long and slow, naked and writhing on an open bed, door wide open. "Guess again" she adds.

His hand moves from her hip and slowly traces around her front, then down one thigh, mirroring her earlier teasing. Her breath hitches despite herself, and she feels him grin again. His hand stops on her skirt, caressing the fabric as though he's fighting the urge to just lift it up.

"Then I suggest" he says, kissing her jaw. "That we move this... to a more suitable location"

She hums in response, and feels him moving to step away, losing the pressure of his body against hers.

"Hey" she calls. One hand snakes behind his neck and holds him still, and he looks a bit surprised for a moment, suddenly less sultry and just plain cute. "You haven't said hello to me properly since you walked in the door"

He smiles at her- a warm expression that contrasts beautifully with their previous game, and reveals the depth of feeling underneath. "I do apologise" he teases, allowing her to pull him back to her. His hands come up to cup her jaw and turn her head up to look at him, as her other arm comes around his back. She smiles as they stand there, really in each other's arms this time.

"Hi" he whispers.

"Hi"

Her fingers flex against the back of his neck and pull him close, and he willingly leans in and presses his lips to hers, firm and yet so gentle. He is a fabulous kisser. They stand there for a long while just holding each other and effectively making out in her kitchen. Though still a great turn-on, there is less of the intensity of earlier- it's familiar, and sweet and completely safe. She thinks it's amusing that she wouldn't mind some of that old stuff back. It's some time before they part, and when they do she is keyed up again, breath ragged, and she's suddenly reminded just how horny she's been all day. It a different feeling to being young and reckless and willing to pick up just about anyone in a bar; it's far more visceral, and entirely focussed on him, and she knows by the way he's behaving tonight that he is no different.

"I think it's time to move to that suitable location" she rasps, opening her eyes. His eyes are black in front of her, and so close she can see every shift of colour.

"Ey ey, Captain" he drawls. She chortles at him, and rolls her eyes, giving him a look of disbelief. "No?" he asks, grinning.

"If only you knew how many times I've heard that one" she says with a smirk.

"But never from me" he says, wrapping is arms around her and pulling her in the direction of her room. She tries to be careful of his steps with her bare feet as she wraps her arms around him and trusts him to lead her in the right direction. If they were younger or more foolish, and perhaps not dressed in matching work suits, he would probably pick her up and stalk to the room. Still, there is something unbelievably fun about stumbling down the hallway while planting her lips on his and causing him to knock his back into her bedroom door frame. She giggles at him, loud and airy in the empty house, and is silenced by his lips again.

He kicks his shoes off as they walk backwards towards the bed, and it's almost thrilling not to have to close the door behind them. She smiles when he all but throws her on top of the duvet, shucking out of his jacket as she's still bouncing at the motion. She laughs at him. "Such a caveman". She pulls the bed open anyway, while she still has the clarity of mind to do so; sheets are easier to wash.

She reaches for the hem of her teeshirt and pulls it swiftly over her head. She goes to reach for her bra clasp and gives him a look when he stops her, his eyes again intense and paralysing.

"Uh-uh" he mutters, shaking his head. "I want to unwrap you myself"

"Oh, I have seen your wrapping skills. I told you, I don't want any of my clothes ri-" She shrieks with a giggle as he pounces on top of her and smothers her with a kiss, silencing the end of her sentence. They stay like that for a while, slowly moving further onto the bed so her back isn't at a funny angle over the edge. She moans around his tongue, enjoying the weight of him on top of her, though she'd honestly much prefer they be naked.

"I promise I'll be careful" he whispers, breaking away and running a hand through her hair, pushing it away from her face. He pecks her lips once more for good measure.

"Okay" she drawls. "But then I need to have my fair share of unwrapping too"

"It's a deal"

"I like deals"

"I know you do"

"You know what else I like?"

"What's that?"

She grins at him again, her tongue between her teeth in a way that looks absolutely naughty. Her fingers start slowly working the buttons of his shirt, her eyes never leaving his. Her nails ghost over his chest as they work down and down, and he growls again, which makes her giggle.

"Oh no" he says, shaking his head. "I told you. I get to unwrap first"

And suddenly she's once again left bereft, breathing heavily in the middle of the bed, sans her shirt, him standing at her feet. For a moment she thinks he's going to leave her hanging again, but she knows that he's too far gone for that now. Playtime, as they say, is over.

He kneels down and pulls her so her knees just fall over the edge of the bed. It's arousing in a way that she rarely thinks about, to see him like that; to have that kind of power-play involved in sex, no matter how subtle. She doesn't know what it says about her that she moans when she feels his hands slide up her calves and around her knees; that she can feel herself get wet when they go up further, gently touching her thin pantyhose so as not to cause a run.

His hands snake across her skin, over her hips, and then she feels the light scratch of his nails as he hooks his fingers in the edge of her hose and pulls them down slowly; so slowly she has to clamp down on a whimper in the back of her throat. He grins at her, completely unapologetic, but doesn't speed up the movement of his hands as they retrace their path back down her legs, lightly gathering the hose as they go. She thinks he really is trying to be careful, and she knows she'll thank him in the morning when she's not so damn worked up.

"Wouldn't want these to get a ladder in them, would we?" he whispers, easing them over the ends of her toes and tossing them carefully onto the chair in the corner of her room.

"You'd be in trouble" she says, nodding in agreement.

"Can't have that"

He looks wicked. And he isn't standing up again. His hands trace over the tops of her thighs and across her skirt, avoiding any real pressure as they find the side zip and slowly ease it down. The sound of the zip teeth is loud in the quiet room that is filled with their heavy breathing and not much else. She watches as he pulls her skirt over her hips and down her legs, lightly biting her lower lip in anticipation. She notices that he very deliberately flings that onto the seat as well; he's at least being mindful of things that will annoy her tomorrow, and she finds that inexplicably sexy. God does she need more of this.

He stops still and drinks in the sight of her, from head to toe and back again, and she lets him because they so rarely get the chance to savour and he makes her feel so unbelievably desirable with the way he looks at her like that. She's glad she paid enough attention this morning to match her underwear- sometimes she just doesn't bother, and that habit does no justice to the lovely wine colour of this particular set. It's not light enough to be considered red, really, but judging by the look on his face, that doesn't matter one wit.

He places a knee on the bed next to her hip, and one hand next to her opposite shoulder, and leans over the top of her, snaking his free hand under her back. She steals a kiss and he's happy to oblige, and she is aware of both his soft lips and his dextrous fingers, which find the clasp of her bra and undo it in a single snap. She threads her arms out of the straps as he pulls back and slides the garment off her. He tosses it across the room, and she doesn't care about the bra because it's due for a wash anyway, and god is she worked up by now.

He pulls himself slowly back, kissing an uneven trail down her chest, stopping to kiss each nipple just enough to leave it wet, and the cool of the room works them to a peak. He moves back to his knees on the floor and hooks fingers into the elastic of her pants right at her hips. She helps him by lifting just enough for him to slide those off her too, throwing them in the same vague direction as her pants.

He stops and stares at her.

In the early days she felt a little bit self-conscious of her body around him. Not for any rational reason; for a woman of her age she's in fantastic shape, she knows. But precisely because of her age, when compared to his usual type. She wondered, the second time they made love, if he had a chance to compare and contrast. He must have noticed, or at least suspected, because he'd made sure to take it slow and steady- almost all night, really- and told her over and over how beautiful she was. He would caress places she'd never think were sexy, and realised some time later that he was noticing everything; noticing and bathing in it. She was much the same really, when it came to him.

But looking at his face now, and seeing the way he is staring at her naked form, a flush of heat spreads through her because he so obviously loves what he sees, and having that kind of influence over someone is a heady power trip she's learning to enjoy.

"Do you even realise how gorgeous you are?" he says lowly, seriously.

She can only really hum in response to that, an indecisive little sound.

He leans over her again and spends a good few minutes running his hands all over her- admiring her in a way that is not supposed to be purely about sex, but gets her wet all the same.

"Andy, please" she whispers, insistent and a little bit desperate. "You're wearing too much"

He chuckles at her, and swiftly kneels again. She is not totally prepared for the feeling of his lips against her inner thigh, or the way they quickly travel up further, then further again. He works both legs equally before he kisses her lips just lightly, and she can tell she's extremely wet, and would like to take a moment to congratulate herself a little at that, because at her age getting wet at thoughts and a few light touches alone is testament to his effect on her.

He licks her, and kisses her over and over, and she can feel herself get warmer, her lips opening and engorging, and he just won't stop. They've done this a couple of time for foreplay, and he always uses his fingers because she thinks he actually really enjoys doing that, but because they're always pressed for time, or tired, or have to be quiet, they've never stayed like this for long; him with his head buried between her legs. But this time she can tell that he won't relent, and he won't slow down, and she hopes she has enough in her to go again once he's done because she wants to come with him inside her, but if he stops she thinks she'll scream. Still, she knows she's multi-orgasmic if given the time, so gives herself over to the feeling. And god, it has been too long since she's come on a man's mouth.

With her legs draped lightly over his shoulders he snakes his hands up her body and lightly flicks her nipples, just enough to create sensation. He'll play with them properly when he's buried hilt-deep inside her and teasing out his own release. She moans and arches her back just a little, afraid of moving too much lest his mouth move away too.

"Don't stop" she whispers. "Oh god, don't you dare stop"

She can feel his smug-bastard smile against her at her words, and no, she doesn't often beg, and yes, this is most definitely a time to do so; she's climbing so high and so fast she might just kill him if he doesn't give her that final push.

She's not expecting the feel of two fingers pushing inside her, but she welcomes it all the same. His mouth leaves her clit just long enough for him to look up at her over her stomach. "You like that?"

She moans at him, nodding, which makes him grin again, and she really doesn't give a fuck about dignity when he's got two- no, three digits knuckle-deep in her pussy and is rubbing _right there_ against her inner wall, and his other hand is still flitting across her nipples in equal measure.

"I want to taste you" he says, his rhythm not letting up. "But I also want to watch you"

She doesn't much care what he does, just so long as he doesn't stop.

"I guess I'll have time to watch later" he ponders. God, she thinks, he really is a little shit.

She moans again when his lips reconnect with her clit with vigour, and she's suddenly thrashing and moaning far louder than they're usually allowed. His fingers intensify inside her, and he starts to suck on just her clit, the tip of his tongue flicking against her rapidly, and that does it. She whines, and then shouts a little, and then lets out one long, deep moan as he sees her through her peak. A heat spreads through her, jolting with every pass of his tongue against her, and she rides wave after wave, feeling her walls flutter around his fingers. She continues to whimper as she comes down, loving the ability to be loud, to make noise, to let him know just how good that felt. She lets herself pant and moan; lets her head fall to the side so she can watch him still lightly caressing her with his lips, and then slowly drawing his fingers out. She realises belatedly that he planned this quite thoroughly, because his nails are clipped short. She'll thank him for that later, when she can think about anything other than the heat still thrumming through her and the erection she knows is waiting for her.

He looks up and meets her eye with a wide grin, she smiles back. He stands straight- and if his knees are protesting he either doesn't notice or doesn't care- and kneels on the bed with one knee over her again. She watches, quite fascinated, as he licks him lips, and then brings his fingers to his mouth and sensually licks them clean, one by one. He seems amused by her wide-eyed reaction to that; he wonders how many lovers she's had that enjoyed going down on a woman as much as he does. Or perhaps they didn't find her taste such an effective aphrodisiac, because boy he sure does.

"That okay?" he asks casually.

The look on his face does it, really; she bursts out into a fit of post-haze giggles, her head tilted back and her eyes closed, and she knows she's so far beyond modesty, so she doesn't even raise a hand to cover anything. He laughs with her and leans over her, kissing her breasts and then her neck before silencing her with a firm kiss that includes a lot of tongue. When he decides to stay above her, half laying on her, she can feel his erection against her stomach.

She pushes him up and immediately starts working on his front buttons again, and this time he lets her. She encourages him with a gesture to take his shirt off, and as he's standing she sits on the edge of the bed and swiftly undoes his belt, top button and zipper. He wants to take a moment to marvel, but she's quite insistent that he lose the pants as well, and he still has the taste of her in his mouth and isn't in much of a mood to argue. The singlet gets pulled over his head, the pants and boxers meet the floor in a single move.

She pulls him on top of her, bodies colliding and aligning on the bed from ankles to lips.

She rolls them and gets quickly on top of him, wasting no time with pretence because she knows this is what he wants. He's moaning and panting and practically begging her to let him slam inside her, and she wants to return the favour and having him come in the back of her throat, but he has told her in the past that if they want any action before morning he'd need a blue pill first. He's honest like that; likes to make sure they make the most of their time and don't waste an opportunity. Still, she keeps a note to herself to one day make him come undo with her on her knees. God, what little hussy he's made her. She loves it.

He can't know why she's grinning wickedly at him as she holds his cock beneath her and strokes him hard, but he grins back. Oh, if only he was a mind-reader, he'd be coming all over his stomach at the images she has in store for them. Of course, come morning, and with a teenager back in the house, most of them will remain fantasies. But she can still tease him with the thought.

He bucks a little under her, and she takes that as her queue. He holds her hips tightly as she lowers herself onto him, still madly wet from earlier. She hums as he fills her, her own sounds drowned out by the loud groan he lets out.

"Pace yourself" she warns. She's still grinning like a cat.

"Don't even start me" he growls. She laughs at him, deep in her throat. He pulls her down fully, causing her to gasp as he hits bottom. At this angle she can feel him just that deep, and it is one thing- no tongue or fingers- can replicate, and it's delicious. Her gasp turns into a moan, and she lifts herself and repeats the motion, causing them both to let out sounds of pleasure.

"Oh god that feels good" he says.

"Mmm-hmm" she hums, nodding as she looks down at him through her lashes. She plants her palms next to his head, and leans down to kiss him hard, and they rock together lightly as their tongues dance against each other for a while. She knows that he loves to kiss her while he's buried inside her, and she doesn't mind it herself. In fact, she loves it too.

After a while- she's not sure how long because she stopped trying to measure time about when he got down between her open legs- she feels his arms tighten around her back, and she braces herself as he rolls them over and pushes himself firmly into her. She moans and gasps at the same time, and it comes out as a strangled sound of pure sex. He kisses her throat, and then rocks into her again and again. She lets out a few little noises in her throat, but she's more focused on listening to his body- on feeling the flex of his arms that are still braced around her, and the heaviness of his breath at her throat.

He raises his head to look in her eyes, so tender all of a sudden after being so playful. She loves that they can be all these things in bed- that they can laugh, and fumble, and worry about the washing, and yet still send each other flying so thoroughly that they have to nap before they can move. She never thought she'd find that again at middle age, after so long without someone, but here she is lying underneath him, her legs wrapped firmly around his lower back, and she feels like they could stay here for hours.

"I love you" he says quietly, one hand coming from around her back to push her hair back and cup her cheek. She smiles and rocks her face into his palm, her hands running over his back.

"I love you too" she whispers back.

"This is my favourite spot on earth"

"Good to know" she chuckles, tightening her inner muscles just fractionally; a sort of sexual version of whacking him on his chest. He grins and strokes into her again, short and sharp and a little bit playful.

"I mean it" he says, still smiling. "With you… that's my spot"

"You just like me 'cause I'm good in bed, as the song says"

There's a laughing glint in her eye, and she's still rocking lightly underneath him as he keeps up a lazy pace. He grins at her joke and kisses her jaw line, then her cheeks, her nose and finally her lips, just a light peck.

"You are damn good in bed" he agrees. It feels less of a cheap dig given he's still rocking slow and deep inside her, his pulse throbbing against her opening, his arms wrapped tightly around her again.

"Don't you forget it" she shoots back.

He rocks into her slowly, and then gives a few firm pumps of his hips, and then slows again. Her nails dig into his back as her fingers flex against him. She knows he won't last long, given the sounds he's making and the way that, even looking in her eyes and kissing her periodically, he still looks a bit spaced out. She thinks if she could just get a finger on her clit she could probably have another, smaller orgasm, but she can't complain that he's not catering to her- she's still buzzing from the last one. Still, he's damn good in bed and he can feel himself getting closer, so he removes one hand from behind her back and traces it across her chest, squeezing and kneading her breast as he goes. (Such a boob man, she thinks. She doesn't mind- it's pleasurable enough, and gives that little kick, but he can spend ages just kissing her breasts with no intention other than spending time with them. It makes her laugh, some mornings, to think that she almost has to coax sex out of him because he's so fixated on her boobs)

His hand snakes between them and a single finger finds her clit. Her nails dig into his back again, and she whimpers low in her throat. It still won't be earth-shattering, this next one, but it will be satisfying enough to quiver around his cock while he's moaning her name into her skin.

She tightens her muscles around him and feels his rhythm falter a little, before it picks right up again, harder than before.

"That's it" she whispers. "That's it. More. Harder… more"

She feels him seeking his release in the depth of his strokes and his heavy pants. A few moments later he starts thrusting into her harder and faster, and his finger never falters, and she reaches her peak quicker than she expected and enjoys the feeling of soft rolling warmth tingling across her skin as she feels him shoot inside her, his deep shouting loud and obnoxious and buried in her neck just like she imagined it would be. It's not quite her name, but it's a valiant effort.

"Oh god" he chants, sweat slicking their skin as they both regain their senses and shift against one another. "Oh god, that was… oh, that was just…"

"Hmm" she hums again, running her hand through his hair and kissing his cheek. "Exactly what we needed"

"Oh god yes" he says, nodding. He's still bone heavy on top of her, but she doesn't mind so much; it's comforting to have a weight on top of her after an orgasm. A duvet between her legs and a vibrator are great and uncomplicated and rather satisfying, but nothing compares to having his deep and uneven breaths reverberating through her chest. No fantasy lover can mumble into her neck the things this man does and make her feel so sexy and yet so cherished.

"You're incredible" he whispers, almost to himself. "You'll be the death of me"

"At least you'll die in your favourite spot on earth" she quips, continuing to run her hand through his hair. She won't let him live that one down, ever. She's not one to keep up running jokes or to tease too mercilessly, but he's never going to forget telling her that in the middle of sex, she'll make sure of it.

"Sharon, you've got no idea how good it is to make love to you"

"Oh, I think I might have some idea. You're not bad yourself"

She thinks it's hilarious that they're revisiting this again so casually while he's still balls-deep inside her and softening by the second, but it feels nice. She loves this cuddling they tend to do.

"Oh, to be young again, I'd be flipping you over and going for round two, I swear"

"You do just fine, honey" she reassures. She'll be thinking about that first orgasm for days now, blushing furiously if anyone looks at her while she's spacing out. He has nothing to worry about.

"There's still a few things from that damn tape I wouldn't mind giving a go" he says, lifting most of his weight onto his elbows so he can look at her and show her his cheeky grin.

"There's still a few things on that tape that I'll be thinking about during dull meetings" she replies. The thought of having wet daydreams about him while Taylor prattles on in a budget meeting has her lurching in a sudden fit of giggles. He laughs with her, loving to see her like this. There's one particular segment involving a naughty librarian and a strange man that looked enough like an office setting that it stuck with her. Part of her wishes she was the kind of person to be reckless enough to try some of those moves out at work. When she's less sated she'll dismiss the idea completely. Still, that's what those fantasies are for, and judging by the look on his face, he's thinking much the same thing.

He rolls off her, his soft cock slipping out as he immediately reaches for the tissues on her bedside table. He quickly wipes himself, and then her, and then balls them up and tosses them on top of his pants that are dropped rather unceremoniously on the floor. There are still two perfect leg circles in the way they fell, boxers on top of them, and that makes him grin to himself. For all their foreplay in the kitchen, and all his teasing, they really kind of rushed it at the end there. Even so, a quick glance at the time tells him they actually killed a couple of hours, and that's surprising, but reason enough for his sudden need to sleep. He reaches for the abandoned duvet just as her arms snake around his middle. He lets her pull him back down into the bed as he brings the blankets with him.

She drapes herself over him and pulls him into her. His arms go around her instinctively, and they lie facing each other on their sides.

"This is nice" she hums, closing her eyes and snuggling into him more.

"It is very nice. Even if we can't do round two"

"Well think of it this way" she starts, pausing to give a wide yawn that scrunches her whole face and proves why all-nighters just aren't practical. "If we have a nap, get something small to eat, sleep some more, then we can have a kind of round two first thing in the morning"

"Doesn't count as round two if there's sleeping in between" he teases.

"I'll have to let Steve Mitchell know" she mutters.

"Who?"

"Nothing"

He snorts at her, then snuggles into her again. "Let's not ever wait a week to have sex again"

"Oh I agree" she nods. It wasn't their fault, really- that's just how the week turned out. But it was still far too long now that she's used to having him around. She missed having that faint burn in her legs and hips that told her, even the next day, that she's not alone anymore.

"You hungry?" he asks. They've both already closed their eyes, and he doesn't particularly care about missing dinner after the huge lunch they had today at the office. But he'll get up with her if she wants to eat. She doesn't, of course, because she also indulged in a big helping at lunch, and frankly she's far too comfortable to move now, mild hunger or no. She can wait for breakfast. She hums a negative-sounding noise against his chest and shakes her head just a twitch. He grins at her. She's already half asleep, and he thinks that's adorable.

"I'll see you in the morning" he whispers into her hair. "Love you" he hears, or something like it, mumbled out the corner of her mouth. "I love you too" he mumbles back. It's an early night for them both; he knows they'll wake before the alarm tomorrow, which will give them time enough to have slow and lazy morning sex, clean up their piles of scattered clothes, indulge in a full breakfast. Her blinds aren't closed fully and so he thinks they'll get woken by the morning sun.

But the alternative is getting out of the cocoon of them and getting dressed and being domestic, and frankly none of that interests him when he can feel her breath evening out against his chest and her arm growing heavy around his middle.

Fuck it, he thinks. It can all wait for morning.


End file.
